


Overwatch Halloween Kink Spectacular

by emissaryofrainbows



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Autofellatio, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Body Hair, Burping, Cannibalism, Death, Digestion, F/F, F/M, Farting, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Girl Penis, Gore, Gross, Horror, Impregnation, Inflation, Large Cock, Like, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Object Vore, Other, Oviposition, Popping, Pregnancy, Scat, Stuffing, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Transformation, Unbirth, Vore, Weight Gain, Werewolf Jesse McCree, bursting, every single kink ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:40:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emissaryofrainbows/pseuds/emissaryofrainbows
Summary: I have an annual tradition of writing kink fics based on the skins released in the Overwatch Halloween event each year. This story compiles all those fics in the order they were written in. Be sure to read the tags at the beginning of each story, as each one can have wildly different kinks from the last. Most, if not all of these stories will feature very weird kinks, so consider yourself warned!





	1. Vampire Symmetra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story was inspired by the new Overwatch Halloween event, the fact that I haven’t done vampiric vore before, and my love of Symmetra. There’s a chance that I’ll turn this into a series, and post more stories with this setup during the course of October. Anyways, had a lot of fun with this one, hope you all enjoy!
> 
> And as a warning, it contains some blood, because vampires, so if that makes you uncomfortable I suggest you skip this one. Oh, and there are big bellies too, if that wasn’t obvious.

It was a few days into the month of October, and the Overwatch crew, despite being heroes with an important job to do, weren’t above dressing up for the occasion. Their outfits were already fairly gaudy, so their Halloween costumes were a step towards normality, if anything.

Junkrat and Roadhog wore matching Mad Scientist and Scientist’s Monster costumes, while Mercy opted for a charming witch costume. Zenyatta even painted a mournful skull over his faceplate.

Symmetra, meanwhile, settled for a vampiric outfit. It didn’t take much effort, with her reality-altering abilities allowing her to change the color of her outfit to red and black with a mere whim. With a pair of red contact lenses, some high-quality fake fangs, and a layer of pale makeup over her skin, she made a convincing vampiress, with the silky black hair she already sported completing the image.

As there were currently no outstanding missions that required Overwatch’s attention, they were free to enjoy a peaceful Halloween party, and mingle about, comparing and discussing costumes. Symmetra’s received several compliments, but someone went a bit too far.

Junkrat boasted to Symmetra, claiming that his costume was the most authentic. It was hard to deny, too. The chemical canisters that adorned his labcoat were all real, volatile substances, and the wheel on his back, lined with Tesla coils, could function as an actual weapon just as his riptire could. And considering his mental state, there really wasn’t a hair of difference between Junkrat and an actual mad scientist.

Symmetra was one of the most fiercely rational members of Overwatch, and under normal circumstances, she’d merely brush off the comments of the Australian who was, in essence, a walking, talking piece of burnt toast. But something about tonight made her feel more loose and playful, and made her determined to prove him wrong. Perhaps it was the seemingly limitless amount of punch that was provided at the party. Symmetra wasn’t normally much of a drinker, and the alcohol was clouding her usually sterling judgement.

She cracked a smirk, calling upon her reality-altering abilities again, but to a much more intense degree than last time. Instead of merely changing the colors on her outfit, she restructured her body entirely. She removed her contact lenses as her irises turned blood red, and her fangs plopped out of her mouth as real ones grew underneath. Her skin became genuinely pale. While still retaining slight hints of Symmetra’s original dark-brown skin color, her skin looked much more genuinely haunting.

"Still not impressed" Junkrat said, as Roadhog lumbered behind him, cramming party snacks into his mouth.

Symmetra sneered. She used her powers one last time, manipulating the reality around her to a level that was perhaps more extreme than she ever had before. Things quickly got out of hand, as a wave of energy swept across the room.

The concepts that the Overwatch agents wore began to take actual, physical form. Roadhog’s flesh shifted and transformed, until he was turned into a genuine stitched-together, green-skinned monster. Mercy’s witch outfit now granted her magical powers, of a similar kind to the one Symmetra was currently using to transform her. Pharah’s skin became dark grey, and some strange, demonic consciousness possessed her and overtook her body.

And Symmetra, of course, was affected by these changes too. She lost her ability to go out in daylight, and gained a vulnerability to garlic. She could now transform into a bat at will, and her fangs now served a purpose: satiating the hunger for blood that now raged through her body.

Eventually, things settled down, and Soldier 76 called a meeting among the transformed agents. Unfortunately, Hanzo, who had been turned into an Oni-like creature, had vanished in the chaos, along with Pharah, Junkrat, and Roadhog, leaving only himself, Symmetra, Mercy, Reinhardt, and Zenyatta at the party. The other Overwatch agents were presumably somewhere else, doing something far less interesting.

"Well, this was certainly…unexpected" Jack said, gazing into the nearest mirror. Fortunately for him, his zombie-like transformation had done nothing to dull his rugged good looks.

"Vaswani, can you undo this?“ he asked.

She shook her head. "If I could, I would have already done so. I could potentially reverse the effects, but it will take some time”

In truth, Symmetra probably could fix it herself, perhaps not immediately, but sooner than she was letting on. She wasn’t about to let go of the powers she had just given herself, though, and she was filled with an intense curiosity to see how it would affect her teammates as well.

Jack grumbled. “Well, I guess having supernatural powers isn’t that much of an issue.”

Symmetra licked her lips conspicuously. Her hunger for blood was still clouding her thoughts.

Fortunately, the Overwatch base’s alarm system went off, and the agents were gifted with a mission to embark on. Talon agents were spotted lurking around Dorado. The remaining, mutated Overwatch members were deployed, and arrived there within minutes. Mercy’s staff had been transformed into a broomstick, and while it still served the function of healing her teammates, it also allowed her to fly at ridiculous speeds. It was a bit awkward trying to cram the entire Overwatch unit onto the one broom, with Jack having to sit on Reinhardt’s lap to save space, but it did save them quite a bit of time.

They landed just outside the area where Talon was patrolling. Mercy was able to get a good view of their positions from above. There were a large number of Talon soldiers, either in small groups or on their own, distributed evenly throughout the city.

"We should take a stealthier approach" he suggested. “We’re outnumbered, and we’re still not sure how these transformations will impact our combat performance.”

The members all nodded in agreement, save for Symmetra.

"I know exactly what I’m capable of,“ she retorted. "There are plenty of tight corners, where I can ambush the Talon soldiers with my turrets. I will deal with this problem on my own, and contact you if I need any assistance.”

Symmetra’s motivations for going in alone were obvious, and a good portion of the team understood her intentions for those Talon soldiers.

"Fine,“ Jack said, nodding. Symmetra wasn’t wrong, Dorado’s geometry was perfect for Symmetra’s turrets. Besides, her transformation was the only one that was truly intentional, and he wasn’t about to argue with a bloodthirsty vampire when he could be unleashing said vampire on his enemies.

The other members couldn’t disagree, although Reinhardt and Mercy insisted they would be on standby in case Symmetra needed the help.

Symmetra transformed herself into a bat, flying silent and unseen through the streets of Dorado. She flew high above the city, getting an aerial view of the soldier’s locations. She dove into an alleyway, which two Talon soldiers were beginning to approach. She quickly morphed back into her normal form, and hid turrets on the nearby walls and floor. Then, with one final transformation back into a bat, she perched herself against a fence, from a safe distance, and watched as the soldiers approached.

They were struck by lasers as they walked within range of Symmetra’s turrets. They found themselves slowed down, as their jet-black armor began to melt.

Symmetra took on her human form, and walked slowly towards them, biting her lip with anticipation. She was impressed by how elegant and intimidating her movements were, and how well she fit into the role of a vampire despite being one for such a short time.

The soldiers attempted to draw their weapons, but the beams had slowed there movement to a point where Symmetra simply knocked them out of their hands.

The soldiers looked up at her, and she could tell they were terrified, despite the fact that their faces were concealed beneath masks. They were dealing with a genuine monster, after all.

She snapped her fingers, and her beams deactivated. She wasn’t letting them go, of course, she summoned a wall of hard light to block off any exit they may have had from the alleyway. She just didn’t plan on killing them through incineration by her lasers.

She grabbed one of the soldiers by his shoulders, and pulled him to her chest. She showed her fangs for a moment, hissing as she sunk her fangs into his neck. Her teeth were strong enough to piece the flexible armor covering his neck with ease, and drain the sweet blood from him. His comrade watched on in horror, pounding desperately against the unbreakable hard light wall.

Symmetra moaned as she drained the soldier of his blood, taking an almost sexual delight in the feeling of fullness it gave her, the way her hunger was instantly quenched and replaced with a feeling of power and bliss.

Once she had drained the soldier of his blood completely, she discarded his body onto the ground, where it landed with a heavy thud. Her pale skin gained a bit more color, and her lips were stained red with excess blood, which she quickly lapped up. Since she was so thorough in draining this man of his blood, her stomach had distended slightly, straining against her outfit that fit snugly against her once slim waist.

She let out an uncharacteristically rude burp, as she turned to the remaining soldier. She was no longer hungry, exactly, the lack of blood was no longer making it difficult for her to think, but she knew that more blood would mean more power and more of that lovely full feeling. Disposing of the second Talon soldier by any other means just wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.

She grabbed him from behind, as he was still slamming his body uselessly against the wall of light. She was even more swift and ferocious than the last time, since she was biting from a place of power, not weakness and desperation.

She drank up his blood with a comical slurping sound, and let out another burp as his husk landed on the concrete, next to his former partner.

Her stomach had more than doubled in size, as the second one seemed to have more blood inside of him, or perhaps Symmetra was simply more efficient at extracting blood from her victims. Either way, her stomach was noticeably round and tight, distending around four or five inches from Symmetra. It stretched her outfit enough to produce a worrying stretching sound, but modifying her outfit was a simple task. A quick adjustment to the fabric made it incredibly flexible, and capable of accommodating her belly no matter how many Talon soldiers she dined on.

She paused for a moment, making a temporary adjustment to her outfit, and removing the fabric that covered her stomach, just so she could run her hands over the bare skin. She rubbed it, fascinated, and adoring how her belly sloshed whenever she touched it, and how taut and round the skin was. She noted that her navel had popped as well.

Satisfied, for now, she covered her stomach once again, although it was still visible underneath, a warning to the other Talon agents, showing where their vital fluids would be ending up.

She transformed herself back into a bat. Her aerial form didn’t retain the swollen gut that her human form did, which ensured that she would still be able to fly, but made her concerned that she would loose that delightful swollen feeling that she looked to enhance with more victims.

Fortunately, her fears were proven false, as she transformed back into a human, and found her stomach just as delightfully engorged as it had previously been.

She had landed herself close to where a single Talon soldier was deployed. It would be easy enough to ambush him, but Symmetra found the fear as she slowly approached her prey as the inevitable dawned on them to be half the fun, so instead, she created shackles of hard light that tied him to the ground, letting Symmetra casually approach.

She licked her lips as she got closer, and took care to rub her distended belly as much as possible, to draw attention to it, and allow the Talon soldier to figure out what exactly Symmetra intended to do with him. He wasn’t exactly sure if she planned on swallowing him whole or simply draining him of blood, but he knew that the result of either would be the same: he would end up dead, and Symmetra would end up even more bloated and satisfied.

Symmetra was never an outwardly lustful woman. She wasn’t asexual, and would frequently satisfy her needs with hard light formed into all sorts of kinky, adventurous shapes, but she was always very reserved about her desires, and picky with her sexual partners. But yet, she found herself caressing the chest of a Talon soldier, whose face she couldn’t even see due to the mask, but perhaps she preferred it that way. She pressed her body against his, rubbing her stomach, and her breasts, against his chest, causing both to tremble. Perhaps she was getting into the vampire seductress mindset, or perhaps the amount of blood she had feasted on had increased her sex drive along with her power.

Eventually, she stopped teasing her prey, and dug her fangs into his neck, and began to drink. Even when she was draining him, however, she couldn’t resist doing it in a sultry manner. She bent reality, banishing the segments of armor that covered the soldier’s thighs, so she could caress the bare skin as she drank. She would occasionally stop drinking entirely, and run her tongue, which was now long, forked, and prehensile, over the punctures in the soldier’s neck, making him shiver.

Her stomach was now about the size one could expect from a full-term pregnancy, and roughly the same shape, if not slightly softer.

"Hey, who’s there?” another soldier called out, as he clutched his flashlight, hands trembling, aiming it at the bloated Symmetra. He groped at his belt, trying to retrieve his communication device and call for backup.

Symmetra raised her hand, almost casually, and produced a hard light hook, subconsciously inspired by Roadhog’s, no doubt, which wrapped itself around the soldier and pulled him towards her.

"I’m sorry, I don’t have time to treat you as nicely as the other" she said, chomping down on his neck, and draining him far more efficiently and less seductively than she had the previous victim. Soon, he was nothing but a husk, and Symmetra’s stomach gained another addition. She tried to rub it again, but found that her hands could no longer reach the end of it, and she was forced to caress the sides instead.

Once she was done, and expelled another belch, she turned her focus to the communication device the soldier had left on the ground. She considered picking it up, but imagined her belly would make that nearly impossible, so she made a disk of hard light beneath it and levitated it up, so she could grab it out of the air.

The device was unfamiliar, but it wasn’t difficult for Symmetra to figure out how it worked. She pressed a button on the side, and began to speak.

"Come and get me" she said teasingly, firing a beam from her neglected Photon Projector into the air, in case there was any confusion to her location. She wanted the Talon soldiers to find her, after all. Consuming their blood one by one may have made her feel like a clever predator, but the other agents were waiting on her, and she was curious to find out how it would feel to be positively overstuffed with blood sooner, rather than later.

The Talon soldiers did indeed find Symmetra’s position, which she refused to move from. Normally, when she wanted to rest, she would erect herself a hard light seat, but with the enormous gut she now had to deal with, she decided that a comfortable hard light couch would be more appropriate.

The remaining Talon soldiers, exactly one dozen, surrounded the reclining Symmetra, who yawned dismissively into her hand. They raised their weapons, expecting a swift victory against the monstress as they let out a volley of automatic fire.

Symmetra summoned a barrier around herself, which absorbed the bullets, as they bounced off harmlessly and fell to the ground. She banished her couch into nonexistence, and stood up.

"I’m not sure if I have enough room for all of you" she teased, as she patted her growing belly. “I suggest you pray that I drink enough blood from your friends to pop before I get to you”

Symmetra was joking, of course, she knew that she had plenty of room left for each and every one of these soldiers, who were no longer threats, and just merely slightly defiant snacks. She rushed towards the nearest soldier, tackling him to the ground and keeping him pinned there with the weight of her belly. Another round of gunshots was fired, but she was able to reflect them again with a simple barrier.

Symmetra then summoned a pair of hooks, yanking two soldiers towards her at once. She grabbed one, and drained him swiftly, and was able to move on to the other before he could react. This method of hooking enemies seemed to be working delightfully well, and she continued to use it, blocking gunfire whenever necessary, until the dozen Talon soldiers were reduced to nothing but a swirling mass of delicious crimson blood in Symmetra’s stomach.

Symmetra made her way back to her allies, who were beginning to grow concerned. Their concern was replaced with confusion, as Symmetra approached them with a belly approximately the size of her own body. It jostled from side to size as she moved, gurgling and sloshing, and forcing increasingly noisy belches from Symmetra’s mouth, each followed by a polite “excuse me”

"I’m…impressed" Jack said, unsure of what else to say. He had expected Symmetra to drink the blood of her enemies, being a vampire and all, but for some reason the thought of her coming out as the human equivalent of a thick full to bursting had never crossed his mind.

"Thank you" she said. “But I expect a more significant reward for solving this crisis on my own”

Continuing the trend of hard light furniture, Symmetra created a bed underneath her. She laid on it, on her back, of course, letting her stomach stick into the air, showing the other agents just how tall and massive it was.

"One of you is going to have to rub it,“ she said. "And I suggest you decide quickly, before I get hungry again”


	2. Possessed Pharah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second of my Overwatch Halloween stories. This one’s fairly dark and twisted, and includes digestion and disposal, and vore in which the predator is unwilling, so give it a miss if either of those things sound upsetting to you. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!

Pharah Amari was one of the many victims of Symmetra’s excessive use of power at the Overwatch unit’s Halloween party. Her choice of costume was that of someone possessed, with grey skin, and eyes heavily shadowed with makeup and pure, empty white. 

Unfortunately, Pharah fell victim to Symmetra’s outburst of power, just as everyone else at the Halloween party had. And like the others, her costume was made material, and instead of merely dressing as someone possessed, Pharah’s body became truly occupied by a foreign, demonic force. 

Pharah’s body was no longer her own. Every movement she made belonged to the phantom inside of her, only retaining control of her senses, still able to see, smell, feel, and here everything around her, although unable to do anything about it. 

Her armor had changed due to the spirit’s presence, taking on a eerie purple glow. The possessor was able to reach into her mind, and determine the function of her armor, using it to rocket Pharah out of the Overwatch base in the chaos following Symmetra’s outburst. 

Pharah was able to reach into the mind of the demon possessing her, just as it had with her mind. The demon’s thoughts were cryptic and alien, but she was able to determine one concrete fact: this demon was incredibly, insatiably hungry. More specifically, it was hungry for humans, and longed to feel them wriggling and struggling in its stomach while it digested them, using Pharah’s body as a means to its end.

Pharah was horrified by this realization, that this monster planned to devour its victims with her mouth, knowing that she’d be able to feel them squirming in her belly, but unable to save them. 

The thought of innocents digesting away in her stomach was frightening enough, but secretly, she was more scared by the idea that she might enjoy herself, and find herself a monstrous glutton even if the demon were to depart. 

The demon knew it was unwise to return to the Overwatch base, as Pharah’s fellow agents would be difficult prey. Instead, it flew Pharah into the nearby city, bustling with countless amounts of potential prey. Pharah was sickened, knowing these people who she had swore to protect would soon be melted into nothingness by her stomach acids if this demon had its way. She regretted her choice of Halloween costume, cursing herself for not wearing a chicken costume like Angela suggested. Laying eggs would’ve been far more tolerable than this, and she hadn’t even gotten to the part she was dreading yet. 

Pharah hovered above the city, with the people below unaware of her presence, as it never would’ve occurred to them to look up at that moment. She could feel her head swivel, and her eyes dart back and forth, as the demon tried to identify which among this mass of citizens would make the ideal meal. She could feel its cruel thoughts inside of her, the way it viewed these people as nothing more than pieces of meat, judging them by how easy it would be to capture them, how filling they would be, or how good they would taste. 

The demon finally identified a target. There was a man walking down a sidewalk which was otherwise unoccupied, with a coffee in his hand. He was well-dressed, with square-rimmed glasses, light brown skin and a youthful beard. Pharah found herself drooling, and licking her lips, as the demon made her swoop in towards her clueless prey. 

Pharah was truly like a predatory bird, with the way she flew down from the sky in an arc, snatched the helpless, coffee-drinking gentleman up in her arms, and then ascended back into the sky, fast enough that his screams could barely be heard.

The demon then began to swallow him, as he flailed helplessly, entangled in Pharah’s arms and many feet about the ground. It was worse than Pharah imagined. The demon didn’t simply gobble him up quickly, he took time to run his tongue over the man’s face. Pharah wasn’t sure if he wanted to get a good idea of his flavor before eating him, or if the demon simply wanted to torment Pharah. If it was the latter, it certainly seemed to be doing a good job. 

Eventually, the demon continued, and Pharah realized that things could get so much worse than the tasting stage. The demon made her part her soft lips, and wrap them around the man’s head. She got another mouthful of his taste, as the demon used her tongue and throat to drag him into her throat, towards her stomach.

Pharah’s worst fears were confirmed, as she found the sensation of the squirming, terrified man sliding down her esophagus to be strangely enjoyable, almost sensual. That feeling multiplied when he landed in her stomach, with his every movement and struggle against the lining of her bloated belly sending waves of pleasure all across Pharah’s body. She let out an enormous belch, as the man’s movements were making her quite gassy. 

In addition to feeling the poor man struggling from within her belly, she also began to feel his resistance from the outside, as the demon forced her hands onto her exposed belly, now a rounded, squirming mass of bulging brown flesh with a popped navel. 

The demon wasn’t satisfied, even though Pharah felt more stuffed than she had ever felt before. The demon looked around again, seeing if there were any more innocent, clueless civilians it could use to sate its gluttony. It was getting even darker, so the crowds of people turned into isolated stragglers, perfect prey for the demon within Pharah’s body. 

The man with the coffee tasted rather nice, at least to the demon’s standards, and it appreciated how active a prey it was, but it needed someone more filling to ease its appetite. Fortunately for it, it spotted a plump, blonde woman fiddling with her pocketbook, all alone on another empty street. Pharah’s body was compelled to dive towards her, scooping her up again, except this time, the demon opted to keep its hosts body on the ground, as it imagined it would be difficult to stay in the air with the weight of three people. 

The demon placed Pharah’s hand over the woman’s mouth to prevent her from alerting anyone else. Pharah’s squirming, person-filled belly pressed up against the woman’s back, letting her know exactly where she would end up once Pharah, or the demon inside of her, had its way. 

"Please, stop" Pharah said weakly, but her utterance was contained within the halls of her own mind, where nobody but the demon could hear it, and the demon didn’t care much for Pharah’s protests. Instead, it continued as it planned to go on before Pharah’s interruption, placing Pharah’s mouth around the woman’s head, and lifting her up in the air with the aide of Pharah’s musculature and strength-enhancing suit, and letting gravity do the work of forcing the larger woman into Pharah’s stomach. 

"Don’t worry, I think this lovely porker will be enough to fill me up" the demon said, speaking to Pharah directly for the first time. She was disturbed by how much it sounded like her, possessing an Egyptian accent and a similar cadence. It was distinct from hers, though, noticeably more sinister and with a slight reverberation too. Unlike Pharah’s plea, the demon’s voice could be heard out loud, making the woman panic and struggle against the demonic heroine’s throat even more.

Unfortunately there was nothing she could do, as half of her body was already inside of Pharah, with the other half gradually sliding down. Her throat bulged out massively with the plump woman’s form. The demon wasn’t satisfied with the speed at which things were going, so she used Pharah’s arms to force the woman down into her stomach with one powerful push. 

Her stomach was now home to a pair of victims, with the first not digested, at least not yet. The realization that there was another in Pharah’s stomach with them made her prey squirm even more, to the delight of the demon, and to the disgust of Pharah, as she felt more shameful arousal search through her. 

"I think I’m full, for now" the demon said, forcing Pharah into a nearby alleyway so it could safely finish off its meal. It plopped itself down by a dumpster, and had Pharah rub her belly, to aide in digestion and help the demon experience every struggle and squirm its victims made before they were churned up into nothing. 

Eventually, the muffled protests of her victims stopped, and their punches and kicks against her stomach lining became less frequent. Pharah knew what this meant, and was even more disgusted than before. Merely swallowing these people was enough, but knowing they had been reduced to slop inside of her stomach, permanently, was the worst guilt she had felt so far. 

The fact that she felt guilt for his act was the only thing left that gave her some kind of faith in herself, even if the sloshing and churning noises her stomach made did give her a kind of morbid satisfaction, just as being filled up with live victims in the first place had. She managed to convince herself that any enjoyment she found was a result of some sort of demonic trickery, or just her body’s natural reaction, and that it meant nothing more than that. 

Pharah felt a pressure in her bowels, and her face grew hot with embarrassment as she release a hot fart into the seat of her armor. 

"It looks like it’s time for my favorite part" the demon said, forcing Pharah to stand up and remove her armor, piece by piece, until the bloated, busty woman was completely naked in the alleyway, with her stomach bloating out several feet in front of her. 

Pharah spread her legs, and squatted. Even if the demon wasn’t directly controlling her, what happened next was still inevitable, as her body forced out the remains of her prey in long, thick logs of shit, that stretched out her asshole in a way that was disgustingly pleasurable. She cursed herself for every drop of fluid that her pussy dribbled onto the ground during this process. 

The logs were thick, solid, and dark brown, and came out in a single, unbroken chain that formed a neat coil on the pavement. Bits of bone and clothing from her victims were mixed in, making the source of this shitpile unmistakable. 

"Well, I don’t know about you, but I enjoyed that quite a lot" the demon said, giving Pharah’s belly a few firm pats. It was still reasonably distended, and wobbled at the demon’s touch. 

"You know, since I’m light enough to fly now, and I’m feeling a little ambitious, maybe I should pay your friends from Overwatch a visit" the demon said, as Pharah was forced to put her armor back on, and her thrusters began to heat up, sending her back into the sky.


	3. 2016 Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale chapter of the Overwatch Halloween Kink spectacular, which managed to come out before Sombra!
> 
> I know it’s a good bit after Halloween, but this would’ve taken a lot longer if it wasn’t for the wonderful outrealm-gates on tumblr, who was my co-writer and the only reason you’re not reading this in December. 
> 
> So yeah, this one has Mei turning into a cute, chubby ghost, who possesses people to share in their sensations, which also results in their bodies getting chubbier like hers. Also, a wrap-up to the events that transpired during the Halloween party in general, and a final wrap-up to that whole possessed Pharah thing. 
> 
> This one contains vore, unbirth, weight gain, digestion, disposal, masturbation of both the vaginal and penile variety, and probably some other stuff I’ve forgotten. Hope you enjoy, and I can’t wait to give this another shot next year!

Mei was yet another victim of Symmetra’s transformative outburst at the Halloween party. Mei’s costume of choice was a ghost, represented by white bed-sheet draped over her chubby form with a pair of square holes cut out to allow her glasses to poke through. Despite the holes, she still had difficulty seeing, and would frequently bump into the other guests, following it up with a barrage of apologies.

Once Symmetra’s barrage of reality-changing waves assaulted the party, Mei was turned into an actual ghost. Not to say that she died, of course, she simply became an ethereal being, a pale, transparent phantom whose legs were replaced with a cute little ghosty tail. She still retained the pudge of her corporeal form, and she looked a bit like a dollop of cream or a marshmallow.

Mei got to witness the chaos of the party firsthand, watching the Overwatch unit transform into demons and monsters one by one, and scatter. She saw the members who managed to keep their minds together organize a mission. She waved to them, desperately trying to get their attention, but she was ignored, as she could no longer communicate with the mortal plane.

She huffed, floating around the base for a while, until she managed to drift into D.VA’s room. D.VA had been transformed, but far less drastically. She chose a pair of bunny ears as her costume, so she wasn’t experiencing many changes besides the aforementioned fluffy ears becoming rear and twitching. Since her transformation was so insignificant, she chose to ignore the other Overwatch member’s ghoulish activities, and opted to play video games in her room until it resolved itself.

Mei wondered how far her ghostly abilities extended, and if she was able to possess people like she’d seen in the movies. Shrugging her shoulders, she floated towards D.VA’s body, entering it and waiting for the result.

Mei did managed to possess D.VA. Since Mei was a kind-hearted ghost, she was unable to possess a person completely, and control their actions, as someone as nice as her had no need to do so. Instead, she merely occupied D.VA’s body as a passenger, able to observe the world through her senses, and communicate to Hana through her mind.

D.VA was shocked by the sudden chill that rushed through her body as Mei entered her. She was shocked again, as her body began to expand, filling up her skintight suit until it was a complete mirror image of Mei’s own chubby figure. Hana had seen Mei’s mostly-naked tubby body in the washrooms enough times to recognize it immediately.

"Uh, hey Hana!“ D.VA heard Mei’s voice from within her own mind, unmistakable in its tone.

"Mei?” Hana said aloud, idly fondling her paunchy belly, which Mei could feel underneath her fingertips.

"Yeah, it’s me! I got turned into a ghost, this was the only way I could reach you…sorry!“

"Hey, it’s fine!” Hana said. “Besides, I always thought I was too skinny.”

"Oh yeah, sorry about that! I guess whoever I possess ends up taking on a part of my appearance…and you got the fatty part.“

"Like I said, it’s fine. Will I go back to being skinny when you leave?”

"Only one way to find out…right?“ Mei responded, as she sprung from Hana’s body, which immediately restored its usual, slender figure, although Hana did feel a yearning to be that round and fat again.

Mei was relieved, knowing that she had a way to consistently contact her team members in case she needed it. She didn’t really need it, though, and like Hana, she just planned on waiting until the Halloween situation blew over. In the meantime, she decided it’d be fun to take advantage of her new powers, and see what it was like in someone else’s body. After being fattened up, Hana’s body wasn’t that different from hers, so she would need someone even more dissimilar to get a truly unique experience.

Her mind immediately went to Zarya. She was the exact opposite of Mei! Muscular where she was chubby, tall where she was tiny. She had always looked at Zarya’s muscular form with curiosity, wondering what it’d be like to be that strong, and now, she finally had an opportunity to test it out. She floated through the walls, until she finally reached Zarya’s abode.

Zarya, not one to go trick or treating or leave her daily weightlifting routine go undone, did not attend the party. She didn’t eat candy often, and she refused to let her strength so much as dwindle, she could be needed at any moment.

 

Mei floated on in to the rec room, noticing (and hearing) Zarya begin her routine, momentarily watching in awe of just how much she could lift, Mei herself could not lift one of the individual weights on that bar, let alone the many she’d assembled. If this was her daily routine….Mei wondered if she could move buildings with muscle like that!! Well…..now was a good opportunity, once Zarya finished her reps and put that massive push up bar back on the rack, she would swoop on in.

 

Zarya gave a shudder and grunt of discomfort as Mei swooped into her body, feeling strange…almost invaded, and even more disturbing was the feeling on her skin……w-was it….expanding!? Zarya was growing fatter before her eyes! W-What was happening!? As she watched in horror and shame, Mei’s voice chimed in her head, sweet as ever. “U-Uhm….Hiya! Its me, Mei! D-Don’t worry, that extra weight is temporary, once I leave you’ll be back to normal.”

 

“Mei?? W-Wha…..a-am I dehydrated….am I going mad?” Zarya wondered aloud, not being at the party to understand Mei’s predicament. “Y-Yeah uhm….Symmetra kind of went bonkers with a trick of hers and….long story short….a lot of us at the party were changed by it, a-and I’m a….well….a ghost!” Mei tried to explain, prepared for Zarya to have suspicions…..this WAS a bit hard to believe…..

 

“So….if you leave I won’t have……this fat on me…..hmm….” Zarya pondered, experimentally feeling the gut that had now buried her 6 pack, earning a giggle from Mei. “You’re so buff Zarya~! I….I always wondered how it felt to be you, uhm….would you mind….w-working out while I’m here? I can feel what you do so….uhm…..i-it’d give me a chance to-“ “On one condition. You give me a chance to…..get a better look at myself….l-like this…..feel this….” Zarya interrupted, sitting up and awaiting Mei’s response, which was an enthusiastic “Yes~! Go right ahead!”

 

Zarya got infront of one of the large body mirrors and took a good look at herself…..her stacked, brick like body smoothed out a bit, she’d lost no muscle, but a good amount of soft fat had covered her body. It looked……interesting…..she…kind of enjoyed it…..but she was also glad it was temporary. “I’m……Y-You look nice like this Zarya….” Mei commented quietly, internally blushing. “I…..thank you, now then….I promised you the rest of my routine….ready?” “Your betchya!” Zarya continued her reps, bicep curls, push ups, squats, jogging, the works. Mei was amazed at how much….stamina….Zarya had, she would’ve fallen over dead and LITERALLY become a ghost if she was subjected to this! At the end of the session, Mei chimed in “Thanks so much Zarya…..this….this is so exciting! I wonder what else I can experience like this, I-i better go before it wears out! Bye!” She said before swooping on out of Zarya’s body, the fat coming with her as Zarya’s muscle resurfaced, she called out a goodbye before looking back in the mirror……the image of her extra weight still in her mind….today was…..interesting~

 

Next up on Mei’s list…..she never really considered what it’d be like to be someone completely different, Hana was Slender, Zarya was buff….but they were both girls. What if……a blush would read across her face if she wasn’t a spooky ghost. What if she possessed a boy??? The blush would only be worse as her thoughts drifted to her little crush…..Jesse. McCree was an oddball by all means, kept up his cowboy routine, had a strange way of joking with people, personal history with that Reaper guy…..but he had a funny charm to him. She…….had to admit she was smitten. But had no idea of his feelings on the matter, and sure enough, in her wanderings, found her way to his room!

 

He wasn’t transformed at all, having not been to the party, he was in half his usual attire, that tanned, toned chest on display. If she were truly breathing those glasses would be a little fogged checking him out. It seems…..he had some weird site on his computer, a-and….was he taking his pants off!? “Hmm…..reckon its about time I get some me-time…..work’s been awful stressful….bout time I just sit back, relax…..and browse some looooovely ladies…..”

 

It happened in an instant, McCree jerked and stumbled as he felt some kind of strange draft fill the room……did he leave the door open!? “Gah…..gettin ahead of m’self……lets get a little……pri….vacy?” As he shut the door, he noticed……what happened to his arm? It was bigger….not more muscle though. He didn’t know any better, he’d think he just bought out a rest stop of their donuts. And suddenly, came an awkward giggle….a familiar ((and in ANY other circumstance welcome and lovely)) voice chimed nervously “H-Hehe…..h-hi Jesse……Its Mei…..”

 

“What in the god damned…..” He said quietly as he held his head, looking over his body. “Last time I take a chance on somethin strange for lunch….I’m hearin shit…..” Mei panicked a little and chimed back up “N-No! You’re not crazy, hum….I know it sounds bonkers….but I’m a ghost. That halloween party that Symmetry organized……she did something crazy and everyone who attended is changed somehow….and well…..I’m a ghost!” Jesse scratched his head and pat his new gut, cocking an eyebrow. “So wait…..you’re….IN me…..little missy?” “E-Ehe….y-yeah…..can uhm…..can I ask a favor……please?” Now Jesse was concerned, she jumped into his body and plumpened him up, or so he assumed, and now was askin for a favor?

 

“W-Well….I reckon that depends on the favor…..” “I-I see that you were hum…..’browsing some lovely ladies’? hum……c-could you just do what you were gonna do? I can feel what you feel, and I’ve always wondered what being a guy was like!!!” Mei begged, hoping he might just be convinced. “What I was fixin to do ain’t somethin you do with an audience little missy!!…..B-But…….bein big like this…….strange enough I kinda like it…….it looked mighty fine on you but, dang….” He trailed off, getting a good look at himself. “Y-You mean it?…..m-maybe after this we could….uhm……discuss that more…..hehe….maybe over lunch~” Mei tittered, her cheeks would be bright red now, flirting with the man who’s body she occupied. “Tell you what little missy…..got yerself a date…..can’t believe I’m doing this but……enjoy I guess?”

 

And so Mei got to see what kind of stuff McCree was into……she only grew more surprised as she realized….she fit quite a few bills….chubby, shy…..glasses….smarty…..hehehe……and it turns out maybe there was some attraction from McCree’s side, considering he even bothered to agree to this. His strong hand wrapped around his shaft, Mei moaned in unison with him, holy moly this was different!! It took a little more work to get herself going, but w-with a cock…..oh my….she almost wished she could do this again sometime!!……well….maybe she could in a different sense….if that date went well~

 

A duo of moans rang in Jesse’s mind as he finally came, the both left a panting mess, well….He was, All Mei could do was feel the exhaustion and aftermath of that climax. “I……J-Jesse……thanks~ I-I don’t know what I could really say otherwise…..u-uhm……t…..talk later…? A-About the date?” Jesse chuckled, gripping his love handle affectionately as if it were Mei’s. “Yeah……talk real soon…..heh……if I had known all this….woulda flirted with you sooner~” “E-Ehehehe…..its strange….maybe this was meant to happen like this. Hm…..w-well…..as much as I wanna stay…..I don’t know how long this’ll last, so….I kinda wanna have fun with it while I can….But I’ll be back when I can!” Mei chimed, enjoying the attention her extra chub was getting from her crush. “I hear ya…..trot along then Mei…..I’mma see ya real soon…..maybe after a nap…heh…” A small ‘mwah’ could be heard before another chill ran up his spine, feeling Mei ((and her added weight)) leave him…almost disappointed at the weight loss. “Mm…..maybe I could stand to pack a few on…..heh….ah, worries for later. “

 

Mei wasn’t sure what else to do, as she had already fulfilled her primary curiosities with McCree and Zarya. She didn’t need to decide on her own, though, as Pharah finally returned to the base, with the demon still piloting her body, ready to devour her fellow Overwatch members in hope of a fulfilling meal.

 

Pharah was still utterly repulsed, as eating random citizens was one thing, but devouring her close allies and friends was another entirely. The demon ran her tongue across her lips, her body still radiating with corruption. Her stomach was noticeably bloated, gaining a layer of fat from her prior victims. In addition to the people she devoured in the city, she also picked up a few snacks on her way back to the base, which were still thrashing about and making unmistakably humanoid bulges against her belly.

 

Mei could immediately see that her friend was possessed as she floated towards the source of the churning. Pharah’s body radiated with corrupted energy, and the way she carried herself and sounded was all wrong. She could see her stomach, too, and it became immediately apparent to her that poor Pharah was forced to eat innocent people by whoever was controlling her.

 

Mei was used to being invisible outside of the bodies of those she possessed, but Pharah’s gaze fixated itself to her terrifyingly quickly.

 

"Not quite what I was expecting, but I suppose you’ll do for a snack,” she said, approaching the floating Mei, and managing to fasten her grip around her ghostly tail.

 

“H-hey, let go!” she cried, not sure what to do, as she had become too comfortable with her invulnerability. Pharah opened her mouth, dragging Mei towards it, to be trapped inside with her other squirming victims.

 

The only thing Mei could think to do was to stop struggling, and instead, force herself to get even closer to Pharah. She rushed into her body, forcing herself into Pharah’s chest. She phased into it, and now occupied her body, along with the demon inside of her, and Pharah herself.

 

“Don’t worry Pharah, I’ll get you out of here!” Mei said, trying to ignore the sensation of people squirming in her gut, that she was now experiencing as a result of sharing Pharah’s body.

 

“There’s no hope for you. You are, at best, an amateur at possession. I was created for no other reason than to take over the bodies of others!” the demon cried.

 

Unfortunately, taunting Mei was a bad idea for the demon, as its voice lead Mei right to it. She located the part of Pharah’s mind that the demon occupied, and did whatever the spiritual-possession equivalent of “shoving” was, forcing her out of Pharah’s mind and into the physical world.

 

Mei exited her body at the same time, wanting to face this demon in person along with Pharah.

 

Pharah’s body immediately returned to normal, with the purple glow surrounding her subsiding and her skin returning to its normal shade. Her belly was still engorged, however, and the prey churning away in her gut still remained. Unfortunately for Pharah, by time the demoness’s control was released, the people in her stomach had already been digested enough that attempting to release them would be a waste of time. She had no choice but to let them remain in her belly, and try to ignore the desperate final struggles they made against the walls of her stomach.

 

The demon inside Pharah’s body was apparently identical to the demonic Imp costume that Mercy would occasionally wear, except, of course, her demonic horns and tail were entirely real, and her form pulsated with a purplish glow.

 

“Well, I suppose you’ve uncovered my true form. Thanks for ruining all of my fun. I was really enjoying your body, you know.” she said with a sigh, as Pharah turned to her, a furious scowl on her face.

 

“Don’t worry.” Pharah said, her scowl turning into a confident smile. “You’ll be back inside of my body before long.”

 

Pharah was blindingly fast, as she activated her rockets, darting towards the demon and grabbing her in one swift motion.

 

She contemplated shoving the demoness in her mouth, but she decided against it, not wanting the remnants of her innocent prey to spend their last moments being digested along with the monster who put them there. Instead, she decided on another, more humiliating orifice, that would be much more enjoyable for Pharah as well.

 

Pharah detached her armor completely, exposing her body, toned with the exception of her belly, thighs, and ass. Her pussy was visible too, neatly shaved but not entirely hairless, and dripping with anticipation.

 

“W-wait, what are you planning to do with me?” The demoness said, as Mei watched on, fascinated by what she was seeing, silently cheering Pharah on.

 

Pharah took the squirming demoness, and shoved her between her legs. More specifically, she shoved her between the folds of her exposed sex. Her vaginal lips flexed and stretched, trying to accommodate the demoness’s form. While the horns atop her head looked as though they may be painful, Pharah found them to be pleasantly phallic upon entry.

 

Pharah became increasingly wet as the demon traveled further and further into her body, and as a result, she became easier to force in the deeper she got, as Pharah’s juices provided plenty of natural lubrication. The demoness struggled and squirmed, naturally, but any attempt she made simply resulted in Pharah becoming more aroused, as she rubbed against Pharah’s insides.

 

Finally, only the demoness’s legs were left, which gave a few futile kicks, before her entire body was trapped inside Pharah’s womb. Her belly gained a significant increase in size as her womb bulged to accommodate the full-sized woman, making her look massively pregnant in addition to bloated and slightly chubby too.

 

Pharah’s pussy was absolutely gushing, and she was quite literally floored by the pleasure of the wriggling demoness in her womb. She laid down on her back, letting her juices dribble onto the once-clean floor of the Overwatch base. She gasped and moaned, hesitantly reaching a hand towards her throbbing clit, but withdrew it, as it would be difficult to masturbate with her enormous gut in the way, and besides, the demoness simply being inside of her would be enough to drive her to orgasm soon.

 

Pharah struggled to speak against the gasps and moans, as she experienced a pleasure like no other, a mix of mind-bending arousal and heroic pride.

 

“M-Mei, I know you’re still there. You may *UGH* want to possess my *URP* body, as this is *HNG* quite the experience.”

 

Mei was hesitant, but the way Pharah’s pussy was absolutely flooding, and the uncontrollable spasms her body made from her ecstasy spoke for themselves.

 

She dived into Pharah’s body, and was greeted with an experience that could best be likened to dunking your entire body into ice-cold water without dipping your toe in first, but with overwhelming orgasmic bliss instead of cold. Mei could feel everything along with Pharah, every contraction, every gush of fluid, every twitch from inside of her womb. It was simply sensational.

 

Pharah eventually achieved an explosive orgasm, forming a puddle of cum beneath her. She placed a hand against her tumultuous womb, and could feel the demoness was still inside, kicking just as she had been before. So, despite her climax, Pharah would have to stick in there a little longer, until the demoness was completely gone.

 

By time the demoness was completely gone, Pharah and Mei had achieved enough orgasms to render them both almost completely unable to think clearly or see straight. Pharah’s mouth hung open, and thick strands of drool fell onto the floor, as she simply waited for orgasm after orgasm to wrack her body.

 

Instead of being digested into feces, as the prey in Pharah’s stomach had, the demoness was converted into cum in Pharah’s womb. When she was finally completely digested and absorbed, Pharah was met with a final orgasm, where all of the fluids that once made up the demoness’s body were released.

 

Her pussy erupted with enough force to make a fire hose jealous. The entirely of the wall she was facing was coated in cum, and the ceiling got quite a bit of covering, too. Of course, the victims still in Pharah’s stomach were digested too, and ready to be disposed of. Pharah was too adrift in her own arousal to go to the toilet or even stand up. Inside, she simply let the thick, fat turds slide out of her flexing asshole and onto the floor, plopping wetly on top of the expansive puddles of cum that were already beneath her.

 

Several hours later, Pharah managed to regain her composure, along with Mei, who exited her body, and wasn’t entirely sure whether she wanted to forget her experiences as a ghost immediately or remember them forever.

 

Pharah rose to her feet, just as the other Overwatch members arrived, along with an extremely bloated and smug Symmetra. Jack was leading the pack, as he always did, and was somewhat miffed about being greeted by the sight of a nude, bloated Pharah, and a room covered in cum and excrement.

 

Jack nudged Symmetra on the shoulder, who mournfully used her reality-altering powers to revert everyone back to their original forms, and while she was at it, scrubbed the room clean of all of the bodily substances that covered it.

 

Now that everyone was in their right state of mind, Jack assembled everyone to discuss. Eventually, it was decided that everyone should let the events of the most recent Halloween slip completely out of their minds.

 

Until next year, of course.


	4. The Cultist and the Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, here’s the first of 2017's batch of Overwatch Halloween stories. This one involves Zenyatta pledging his allegiance to an obvious Cthulhu stand-in and impregnating Mercy with a bunch of tentacles. Give it a read if you like huge, egg-filled pregnant bellies, or if you want to see my failed attempt at quasi-Lovecraftian prose.

Zenyatta was once a simple omnic monk, who strived to achieve peace and enlightenment. Until the day when It found him. 

Zenyatta was deep in meditation, existing within his own mind, immune to outside stimulus. He was free to mull over his own thoughts, in a state of uninterrupted peace. 

And then something happened that should not have been. Meditation put Zenyatta in a state of ultimate isolation, and yet…there was something in there with him. Something formless, and unknowably vast, with evil and darkness that could not be contained in Zenyatta’s own mind. Zenyatta tried to push this creature away, but even his concentration, honed over years of practice, was enough to banish the Eldritch beast. His mind was filled with images of destruction, of the expanse of the cosmos, and of the deepest, stygian depths of the sea, where oily nightmarish creatures appeared for an instant before darting out of sight. A place where no light existed…and where It lurked, waiting to be summoned. 

Zenyatta was now aware of reality, more than he had ever been. The path to enlightenment wasn’t peace and meditation. It was through subservience to the Thing that lurked at the bottom of the sea, at the deepest point of all things. His eldritch master, a darkness beyond knowledge. He opened his mind, opening himself to the voice of the Deep. And from the abyss it spoke, with an ancient tongue that transcended words and sound, a language of pure meaning. 

It instructed him to create a cult in Its name, to gather worshippers, and ultimately, to bring forth a physical form through the womb of a willing human woman. In return, Zenyatta would be given a share of Its transcendent power. Zenyatta humbly agreed.

Zenyatta’s transformation was immediate, as abyssal energy filled his body. His mechanical body was converted to organic, cephalopod flesh, as luminous tendrils spawned from his face. His orbs of destruction now sported several reptilian eyes each, which his Master could look through to observe the world above.

Zenyatta could feel the power of the deep searching through him. His Master was immeasurably powerful, as reality itself was subservient to Its will. Even the small portion of power Zenyatta had been granted made him terrifyingly strong.

It instructed him to journey to the forests of Switzerland. There, he would find inductees for his cult of worshippers, and a witch who would be willing to impregnate herself with Its spawn.

Zenyatta didn’t need to make the journey himself, for It was not bound by the constraints of space, he was everywhere and nowhere at once. All he simply needed to do was appear in the forest, as he was already there all along.

"Greetings, Witch,“ Zenyatta said.

"What brings you here?” the Witch said, turning around to face the tentacle-faced stranger, her tone almost accusatory. The Witch was no stranger to many varieties of dark magic, but the power that radiated from Zenyatta was alien even to her.

"I have come with an offer,“ Zenyatta gurgled, his voice like the deep sea. "My Master wishes to bring his spawn into this world, and he has chosen you as a suitable host.”

"And what will you offer me in return?“

"I have nothing to offer, I am but a humble servant of a greater power. However, my Master offers you a portion of his strength and magic..and pleasure unimaginable.”

"Well, in that case,“ the Witch said with a sly smile. "I accept.”

"I thank you,“ Zenyatta said. "I suggest you prepare yourself for what comes next.”

Tendrils erupted from the ground, splitting the earth apart and causing nearby animals to scatter in terror. The Witch remanined calm, however. She knew exactly what those tentacles were for, and their size and strength only served to excite her.

"Well, go ahead,“ she said, disrobing, banishing her outfit to some pocket dimension in a shower of shimmering magic, with the exception of her hat. She was large-breasted, and wide-hipped, a figure already suited to motherhood.

Zenyatta did not want to keep his Master’s eager host waiting, and so, the first tentacle entered her slick, drooling pussy. The tentacle was lubricated, and pleasantly phallic. The Witch let out a gasp, that quickly transformed into a delighted moan. It wasn’t just the pleasure of the tentacle entering her, and stretching her out, although that was certainly part of it. It was also the blatant indecency of what she was doing, and the promise of power afterwords that thrilled her. 

The tentacle pulsated gently as it pushed its way deeper inside of her. She could feel the first of many eggs entering her, stretching out her womb. She could see it swelling and bulging from the outside as it filled her.

A second tentacle slid inside of her, while the first continued pushing out a seemingly endless supply of eggs. The way the eggs stretched her out, the way they rubbed against her clit…the Witch was in a state of unrestrained, shameless sexual bliss. She drooled, mouth open, tongue out, eyes rolling into the back of her head. Her stomach continued to expand, far beyond the size of a normal full-term pregnancy. The shape of her belly was equally unusual. She lacked the round smoothness of an ordinary pregnancy, instead, her belly was lumpy, although ot entirely shapeless, as her womb stretched to fit the dozens of large oval eggs within.

"Ah, fuck, keep going!” she moaned. Her cunt was sopping wet, and she wanted to be like this forever. Being fucked by an endless series of tentacles, filled to the point of bursting…

It wasn’t just the penetration itself putting her into a state of absolute euphoria. It was the feeling of fullness too, of being stretched out and swollen, pushed to an inhuman level of fertility. She felt like she was constantly on the verge of bursting, but it turned out that she had more room to grow every time.

She could hardly believe how large she was getting. There was no earthly pregnancy she could compare this to, her gut put even octuplets to shame. Her navel had popped, going from a cute, fit innie to a bulging, rigid outie. And things only got more intense, as more tentacles pushed their way into her, bringing more streams of eggs along with them. Some tentacles didn’t even enter her, instead, they wrapped themselves around her breasts, squeezing them tightly and teasing her nipples. Her breasts erupted into twin streams of creamy milk. She was surprised to see herself lactate, but then again, she was pregnant. 

Eventually, her belly overshadowed the rest of her body, and felt extremely heavy, but it retained its shape, protruding out forwards from the Witch’s body instead of sagging towards the ground.

The Witch gasped, as the tentacles withdrew from her pussy. She fell backwards towards the ground, landing in the soft grass. Her belly was pointed upwards, reaching all the way from her midsection to the tops of the trees. She was awash with pleasure. Even without the tentacles inside of her, she experienced non-stop, periodic orgasms.

"Now, you must birth my Master’s spawn, and bring his power into the physical realm.“

Mercy expected the birthing process to be painful. Instead, it turned out to be just as delightful as anything else. The eggs were fairly large, but just small enough for her to push out without any kind of difficulty. The sensation was new to her; it felt a bit like being penetrated in reverse, as the slick, round eggs rubbed against her clit and the walls of her pussy on their way out. The eggs pilled up in front of her, forming into a neat stack.

Mercy’s belly shrunk, finally returning to a relatively normal size, although she was still noticeably bloated from the experience. She took a deep breath, as the orgasms finally subsided, and she was able to have clarity of thought again. She was laying in a quite literal puddle of her own sexual juices, with the mountain of eggs still in front of her. 

The pile began to vibrate noisily, as the eggs started to hatch. One by one, small, green-skinned cephalopods emerged from the eggs. They grew to full-size in a matter of seconds, transforming into large, human-like squid creatures which averaged around seven feet of height. 

The Witch was filled with a strange sense of maternal pride as she watched the aquatic eldritch homunculi disperse into the darkness of the forest. Sure, she had clearly summoned unfathomable evil into the mortal realm, but she was a witch, so that was basically part of her job description. 

"Thank you,” Zenyatta said. “My Master appreciates your dedication to his cause. He has kept his word, and provided you with a share of his dark power.”

"You’re welcome,“ the Witch replied. "Since I have the power of your Master as well, does that mean I can summon those tentacles myself.”

"Yes, of course.“

"Well, in that case, I’m going to have a lot of fun~”


	5. The Hunter and the Vampire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the second of 2017's Overwatch Halloween stories. This one involves McCree as a daring monster hunter, and Reaper as an especially elusive and powerful vampire.
> 
> This one involves vore, of both the vampiric and regular variety, as well as werewolf transformation. (All of it is M/M, as well as fatal, by the way).
> 
> So give it a read if you like big, bloated manly monster guts.

McRee ran the rag over his revolver, polishing it until it shone just as bright as the day he first used it. He loaded in six bullets, each forged from silver, and blessed by a priest, a rabbi, and a shaman, twice each. It was a clear, moonless night, and the hunt had begun.

He was hunting a vampire, and a particularly experienced one at that. Some vampires were savage, acting like animals, tearing into their prey before vanishing into the shadows. Others integrated themselves into society, and lured prey in through seduction or deception. The oldest and most sophisticated vampires tended to be somewhere in between. They avoided any sort of prolonged contact with human society, hunting their prey efficiently and then pouncing when they’re most vulnerable. The vampire he was hunting was from the latter category.

McCree went all over the town that this vampire was apparently terrorizing. He got some vague descriptions from terrified eyewitnesses who glimpsed the shadowy creature for mere seconds before it retreated back into the darkness. The specifics varied wildly, but there were some commonalities among those who weren’t simply lying. He was a large, tall man, dressed in black. He wore a white mask, which combined features of an owl, a skull, and a typical vampiric visage. Some witnesses even claimed to see him carrying a pair of accursed shotguns. A curious choice for a vampire, but McCree knew the usefulness of firearms better than anyone.

This vampire had a fairly expansive hunting ground, covering a majority of the town. He didn’t seem to have any preferences regarding the gender or social status of his meals either. This would make him particularly hard to bait out and catch. All of the citizens had been warned to stay in after sundown, making McCree’s task even more difficult. All he could do is wander the streets, and make himself the bait. The light of his cigar illuminated the way, as he walked down the old cobblestone streets, with one hand around his revolver and the other on his belt buckle.

"Come on,“ McCree said. He kept his eyes peeled, looking for even the slightest shifts or signs of movement in the shadows around him.

The vampire didn’t seem to be biting, as McCree reached the end of the street. Either he wasn’t out hunting tonight, or McCree wasn’t an appealing prey. It made sense, this vampire was clearly intelligent, obviously he wasn’t keen to pounce on someone who was heavily armed. McCree sighed. He could always wait until daytime, and try to find the vampire’s hiding spot while he was asleep.

He turned around, and spotted a figure walking down the street towards him. He clearly wasn’t the vampire, as he was making no attempt to conceal himself, but McCree still instinctively drew his gun.

"Don’t worry, I’m a hunter, just like you,” the figure said, as he drew closer, into the dull glow of the streetlights. He was younger than McCree, clean-shaven and blond haired. He had a strong accent, from a region that McCree was unfamiliar with. He wore a long, gray coat, with knives and a singer pistol holstered underneath his belt.

"Are you now?“ McCree said. "Have you ever killed a vampire before?”

"No. And I suppose you have?“

"I’ve killed plenty.”

"Well, I’m sure you had a first kill, just like anyone else. And I plan to make this vampire mine.“

"That’s a bad idea,” McCree said. “This isn’t an ordinary vampire. An amateur like you has no business hunting this one.”

"I’ve handled myself fine so far,“ the hunter said. "And besides, I have an ‘experienced hunter’ here to protect me.”

And then, the vampire lunged out of the shadows, as if on cue. He plunged his fangs into the hunter’s neck, draining him dry in a matter of seconds. The vampire’s stomach was visibly bloated with blood to start with, like an overinflated tick. After drinking the blood of the hunter, it only expanded further. By time he was finished, he had a stretched-out and imperfectly rounded belly straining against his undershirt.

"Hello, hunter,“ the vampire snarled, running his gloved hand over his swollen, blood-filled gut. "Your friend made a good appetizer, but I still have room for more.”

McCree fired off a trio of revolver shots. His aim was perfect, but the vampire dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, and the bullets passed through him as if he wasn’t there.

"Damn!“ McCree said. There were rumors, among the men and women of his profession, of vampires who possessed extraordinary and dark supernatural powers. In his many long years as a hunter, McCree had never encountered one, at least, not until today. The vampire rematerialized, and responded to McCree’s shots with a volley of his own fire from his twin shotguns.

McCree rolled out of the way of the blast, which hit the side of the building behind him, punching a hole in the concrete.

"I’ll admit, I’ve never been in a gunfight with a bloodsucker before,” McCree said. “But I’ve never lost to a vampire, and I’ve sure as hell never lost a gunfight.”

McCree fired another shot, and then another one after that, letting the recoil from the first guide his hand to the second. These bullets actually managed to land, although they didn’t do as much damage as he would have liked. He would need a lot more silver to take this one down, but it was a start. McCree emptied his revolver into the night, and the vampire made use of his supernatural abilities one again. Instead of fading into mist, he teleported, vanishing from the path of the hail of bullets and reappearing directly on top of McCree.

He pinned the hunter underneath him with his heaving, liquid-filled gut. “Do you feel that?” he snarled. “That’s the blood of all the people you failed to save.”

McCree pushed against the weight of the vampire’s stomach. His hands sunk into it, sloshing the contents of his stomach around. He couldn’t gain any ground though, no matter how hard he tried. The vampire lowered his head, slowly, towards McCree’s exposed neck. McCree’s demise didn’t come down to marksmanship, strength, or bravery. In the end, it was a simple matter of weight. The vampire was pushing his protruding gut into McCree with his hands. He wasn’t just trying to keep him pinned, he was taunting him too. McCree could feel the blood within his opponent’s gut, sloshing back and forth and slapping against the walls of his stomach.

The vampire sunk his teeth into McCree’s neck. There was no pain from the puncture, just the sensation of the energy and vitality draining from his body.

"It’s not…ungh…over yet,“ McCree said. "Take a look at the sky.”

The vampire turned around, briefly, to make sure that McCree wasn’t referring to a sunrise. He wasn’t; it was still nighttime. The thin clouds parted, revealing the full moon behind them. The silverish glow of the moon illuminated the blackened street beneath them. And when the moonlight met McCree’s skin, his transformation began. He grew taller, and broader, with his muscles becoming more strongly defined. Thick, coarse tufts of brown hair sprouted from his exposed skin. His fingernails elongated, becoming vicious black talons. His teeth were replaced with rows of snarling, drool-slicked fangs. His ears perked up as well, becoming canine and pointed.

The newly transformed McCree pushed the vampire off of him effortlessly.

"What the hell are you?“ the vampire snarled.

"Well, you know what they say about 'he who fights monsters.’ I got bitten by a werewolf during one of my first hunts. It was inconvenient at first, and it took me a while to learn how to command this form, but it’s been pretty useful to me ever since. I never did manage to get my appetite under control, though.”

McCree slashed his claws at the vampire in a wide arc. Predictably, he vanished, reappearing behind him. The vampire hadn’t accounted for McCree’s improved reflexes, however. McCree whipped around in an instant, wrapping his powerful hands around the vampire in an unbreakable grip.

The vampire had no time to react, as McCree lifted him over his head, and lowered him slowly into his open, slobbering mouth.

The werewolf’s mouth was repulsively but predictably humid and wet. The vampire struggled against his sucking maw, to no avail, as he was dragged down deeper and deeper into the depths of the monster’s stomach. The abundance of saliva lubricated his maw, making the tall, blood-swollen vampire go down faster than he otherwise would have. His elongated tongue wrapped around the vampire, plunging him down until the entirety of his body was trapped within McCree’s throat.

McCree’s gullet was bulging predictably, he did have a human-sized meal in there, after all. The vampire wouldn’t remain there for long, as a quick, ravenous gulp sent him down into his final destination: McCree’s stomach. McCree quickly undid his belt buckles and straps, opening up his undershirt just in time to accommodate his surging gut without ripping his expensive outfit.

The vampire, being a creature of the night, was no stranger to cramped, moist, dark spaces, but McCree’s stomach was by far the most unpleasant place he had occupied in his centuries of life. The vampire attempted to teleport out of his fleshy prison, and then to fire a blast from his magic shotguns, but his magic would not activate, and his guns would not fire.

"You’re probably wondering why your vampire magic isn’t helping,“ McCree said, his voice just loud enough to be heard through his stomach walls. McCree patted his hairy, exposed gut with a mocking level of exaggerated satisfaction.

"Well, UUUUUUURP,” McCree said, his sentence momentarily interrupted by a loud, guttural burp that lasted for several seconds, sending a jet of saliva from his mouth onto the cobblestone. “I chose to hunt on the night of a full moon, so I could use my transformation as a contingency plan in case things got too hairy. I expected I might end up swallowing you, so I ingested some herbs I bought from a witch beforehand, that block the use of dark magic. In other words, there’s no way for you to get out of there.”

McCree leaned back, letting another belch roar out of his maw. He continued to casually pat and prod at his belly, which jutted out several feet in front of him. The flesh morphed, shifted, and bulged, as his vampiric prey struggled within.

The vampire was a remarkably satisfying meal, and the fact that he himself was already filled to bursting with blood made him all the more filling. McCree wasn’t distressed by the thought that he was technically eating the hunter by proxy, since the vampire he had eaten had eaten him before. If that amateur was still around by time the full moon was revealed, McCree probably would’ve ended up eating him anyways.

"Keep me trapped in here as long as you like,“ the vampire spat. "I am immortal, deathless. All you can do is imprison me. Eventually, I will find a way out.”

"Well, that would be true" McCree said. “But I didn’t just eat some herbs before I went hunting. I downed a vile of holy water too. Just enough to mix with my stomach acids, to make them lethal to unholy demons like yourself.”

The vampire had no retort, as he could already feel himself melting away. McCree could feel it too, but more importantly, he could hear it. His stomach gurgled and hissed as his acids ate away at his prey. His gargantuan gut retained its size, and gradually became more uniformly spherical, as the vampire’s struggles ceased. McCree couldn’t help but drag his clawed fingers affectionately over his enormous midsection, awash with the savage, feral joy of a huge, delicious meal.

McCree savored every moment of his hunt, just as he would every other. He delighted in every struggle against his stomach walls, every burp that carried the vampire’s unique flavor. His stomach shrunk, disappointingly, and the unusual nature of the vampiric body meant that no fat was left behind. That meant that McCree would be deprived of the pleasure of a huge, satisfying dump afterwords too.

McCree’s belly finally returned to its original size, as the vampire was digested completely. The town would no doubt pay him handsomely for a job well done.

McCree made his way back towards the center of town to receive his payment. After that, it would be another hunt, and hopefully, another meal.


	6. Let's Get Physical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long on this one, but 2017's round of Halloween stories is finally finished. 
> 
> This one’s about Zarya, starting her own gym and putting on an 80s-tastic Halloween costume. D.VA is one of her customers, who comes in for a personal training session not realizing that Zarya has low standards for personal hygiene. 
> 
> This one’s got all kinds of grossness. If not into that sort of stuff, I’d suggest not reading. And if you are, I hope you enjoy it!

Zarya was best known as a weightlifter, with the illustrious title of the world’s strongest woman, but she had other interests outside of working out. Namely, she had an immense, unironic love for tacky fashion. Her cybergoth outfit was a prime example of this affinity. And when Halloween rolled around, she decided to take a stab at the best decade for outrageous outfits: the 80s. Zarya had an extreme sense of nostalgia for the 80s. Or, to be more precise, she was nostalgic for the 2050’s nostalgia for the 2000’s nostalgia for the 80s.

Regardless, her Halloween costume was going to involve dyed hair, legwarmers, and gaudy neon colors. That was certain.

Firstly, Zarya washed the dye out of her hair, and grew it out, leaving it in its natural blond color, with the exception of a single multicolored piece covering her eye. She wore a torn-up top, that only barely covered her breasts, with “Let’s Get Physical” written in an appropriately spooky font. She also wore purple tights, a leotard, and of course, legwarmers. She looked fabulous.

Zarya had another interest besides absurd fashion. This one was more closely tied to her love of weightlifting, however. Russia was rather peaceful at the moment, and there were far fewer crises that needed her attention. So, she was free to start a little side business for herself. She opened up a gym for women, where she would work as a personal trainer. She had no doubt that people from across the globe would flock to her gym, in hopes of being trained by the strongest woman in the world. And, she would wear her Halloween costume to work. There was no point in making it if she wasn’t going to show it off.

And it turned out to be a mild success, at least to start with. Several people entered on the studio’s opening, which was on Halloween night. They all left minutes into their personal training sessions with Zarya, however. There was a very good reason for this. Zarya was disgusting, to put it lightly. Now, this wasn’t entirely unexpected. Zarya was an athlete, so some sweat and body odor was to be expected, and she certainly wasn’t the only person in the gym with such problems. But Zarya’s foulness went above and beyond what any reasonable person would expect. She radiated with a pungent, eye-watering musk that only grew in intensity the closer someone got to her. Her hands-on method of personal training meant that her trainees were as close as possible to the source of the stink. Her patrons all left, only able to endure a few seconds of Zarya’s unbelievable odor. Zarya didn’t mind much, she still had their money, although she did wonder why everyone left so soon. Zarya was immune to her own funk, so she wasn’t aware of the effect it was having on her costumers. She assumed they were all leaving because they were intimidated by her massive strength.

Hana, otherwise known as D.VA, entered Zarya’s otherwise empty studio. She had nothing else to do at the moment, so she figured she might as well get in shape. She wore a modified version of the jumpsuit she usually wore while mech piloting, as it was already ideal for exercise.

Zarya’s body odor hit her like a truck the moment she stepped into the gym. She attributed it to the multitude of sweaty patrons who had no doubt been here before, not knowing that the entirety of the odor belonged to Zarya and only Zarya. Still, it made her nose crinkle reflexively. She pushed through it though, if she wanted to get into shape she’d need to learn how to increase her tolerance for unpleasant sensations.

"Ah, Hana! It’s so nice to see you!“ Zarya said, bringing her into a crushing hug. D.VA was pushed into one of Zarya’s humid, hairy, putrid armpits, and there was no denying that Zarya was the epicenter of that stink anymore.

"Yeah, nice to see you too,” Hana said, trying her best not to open her mouth.

"You’re here to work out?“ Zarya said, releasing her. Hana immediately tried to put as much distance between herself and Zarya as she could without looking like she was deliberately doing so.

"Yeah. You know, it’s important for a gamer to stay in shape, you know?”

"Ah, yes. It is good that you come here. How would you like to start your workout?“

"Uh, weight training I guess,” Hana replied, trying to keep her mouth open for as short a duration as possible. Zarya had pretty bad halitosis too, and Zarya insisted on getting right up in D.VA’s face whenever she talked. D.VA’s eyes watered, and she tried her best to stifle a gag. She didn’t want to offend the woman who was so generously offering to train her, especially one who could probably snap her in half.

"Excellent. I will get you set up.“

Zarya walked over to the weightlifting bench, placing appropriately heavy weights on the barbell. The distance gave D.VA a moment of reprieve from Zarya’s odor. She took in a deep breath, trying to fill her lungs with as much untainted air as possible.

"I’ll spot you,” Zarya said, standing beside the bench as D.VA laid down beneath the barbell. D.VA’s head was dangerously close to Zarya’s crotch, which had an appropriately raunchy odor. D.VA tried to focus on the barbell, wrapping her hands around it in an attempt to get the best grip. Zarya frowned disapprovingly, leaning in and giving D.VA a hot blast of her stinking breath.

"Your form is off,“ she said, grabbing D.VA’s hands and pushing them further apart.

"There. Push up, and go straight down.”

D.VA pushed her arms upwards. The weight was substantial, but not insurmountable. Once her arms were fully extended, she lowered them back down, hovering it right above her chest. D.VA felt lightheaded already, not because of the weight but because of Zarya’s ever-present musk.

"Do you need help?“ Zarya said with a concerned look, unaware that she was the source of D.VA’s distress.

"Nope, I’m fine,” D.VA said, powering through her dizziness and pushing the barbell up once more.

"There, good,“ Zarya said. "You are impressive for first-timer.”

"Thanks,“ D.VA said. Unfortunately, her success was short-lived. She raised the barbell up again, just as the odor finally got to her. Her arms buckled, and the barbell came crashing down towards her chest. Zarya scooped up the barbell before it fell completely, placing it to the side as if it weighed nothing.

"Hm, we’ll do more weight training later,” Zarya said. “We should move on to something else.”

"Yeah, sounds good,“ D.VA said weakly.

"You need to learn close quarters combat. You won’t always have your mech to protect you. I will help train you in physical fighting skills.”

Before D.VA could protest, she was already being dragged to a wrestling mat in the center of the gym.

D.VA was shoved onto the mat, which was, remarkably, relatively clean and new. That meant little when compared to her sparring partner, however, as Zarya positioned herself on the other side of the mat.

"Alright, don’t hold back,“ Zarya said, assuming a combat stance, legs apart, arms out in front of her. Even in her over-the-top 80s-tastic outfit, she was still an incredibly imposing combatant. She was at least a foot taller than D.VA, after all, and probably three times her weight. Her smell would no doubt make things even more difficult. It was too late for Hana to back out, the best she could hope for was a swift and relatively painless defeat.

With no other options left, D.VA hurled her petite frame at Zarya’s amazonian body.

D.VA bounced off Zarya like she was made of stone. Her tackle barely registered, of course, and D.VA was treated to a nostril full of Zarya’s armpit odor. D.VA cupped her hands over her face, nose burning and eyes watering. Her hands did little to shield her from the stink, or protect her from Zarya’s counterattack.

Zarya was shockingly fast for her side, smashing into D.VA with the force of a speeding train. D.VA wasn’t even sure where she had been hit, or how Zarya had hit her. All she felt was the resulting impact, and her body hitting the mat. Fortunately, the mat was quite spongy, and cushioned her impact, saving her from any real pain or injury. D.VA was still dazed, and pinned to the ground, however, and Zarya intended to follow up her opening attack.

D.VA was lifted up helplessly into the air by Zarya’s unbreakably strong grip. She was surprisingly gentle, lifting her almost delicately into the air. Zarya’s restraint was short-lived, as she pulled D.VA sharply into her chest, squeezing her tightly, forcing the air out of her lungs. Zarya had her in a bear hug, or more specifically, the Siberian Bear Hug, which differentiated itself from the normal bear hug by having a far tighter squeeze.

D.VA was pinned to her chest, between both of Zarya’s putrid armpits. She got a powerful dose of stink for both, but things were about to get much worse. There was a brief, sharp rumbling sound. D.VA didn’t have enough time to identify the source, but it was coming from Zarya’s stomach. Zarya had binged herself on high-calorie foods earlier, as she did before nearly every one of her physical endeavours, and that food was about to make an appearance.

Zarya’s mouth was forced open, as a deep, long, and humid belch forced itself out of her mouth with a hearty UUUUUUUUUUUURP.

D.VA felt the hot air against her face, and the smell of Zarya’s lunch penetrated her nose. Somehow, the smell of her burp was far worse than the scent of her breath alone. She no longer put up a pretense of politeness, as she gagged and squealed, struggling against Zarya’s grip.

"Excuse me,” Zarya said, tightening her grip. She released another horrid burp directly into D.VA’s face, before dropping her onto the ground. The mat was starting to pick up a smell, as Zarya’s sweat dripped from her hairy armpits and soaked into the foam. Now there was nowhere D.VA could go to escape from the odorous assault.

And things somehow got worse. D.VA felt a tight, heavy, and spherical object pressing against her face. Two of them, to be exact, with a crack in between them. Zarya was now sitting on D.VA’s face, and despite Hana’s limited knowledge of wrestling, she was almost positive that wasn’t an officially recognized technique. Regardless, she still had Zarya’s muscular rear pinning her to the ground. The smell was predictably heinous, but surprising in just how disgusting it was.

The hot scent of Zarya’s ass was like…well, there really wasn’t anything to compare it to. It was simply the strongest incarnation of warm, smelly ass that D.VA had ever experienced. Zarya’s malodorous crack was the sweatiest part of her body that D.VA had encountered by far. D.VA felt as though all of her senses had become dulled, with the exception of her sense of smell, which became unfortunately enhanced.

Once again, and for the last time, things got worse for D.VA. Zarya’s stomach growled and churned audibly. Zarya released another gassy assault, but this time, it came from the other end.

D.VA could hear the fart before she smelled it. It was loud, like being near the epicenter of an explosion. It was especially wet and juicy as well, and had a force like a wind turbine. D.VA could swear that she felt her hair blow back, as Zarya’s tight, powerful asshole and muscular cheeks forced out her rippling flatulence.

The smell soon reached her nostrils. The fart had a putrid odor, smelling of, well, fart. The gust of air carried some of Zarya’s swampy, sweaty asscrack-scent further up her nose, but mostly, it was just an especially rotten blast of flatulence. D.VA wanted to scream, but she knew that she needed to keep her mouth shut at all costs. She tried holding her breath, but the smell still penetrated through.

And before D.VA could even fully comprehend her situation, Zarya pushed out a second. Apparently, the first one was just a warm-up. The second was superior in all categories. It was smellier, of course, and expelled with greater force. It was louder too, echoing between the walls of the room, for several seconds after it ended. And, worst of all, it was longer, lasting for a duration of what was in reality several seconds but what felt to D.VA as an eternity.

Finally, it was too much. The musk, and the gust of shit-scented air pushed D.VA over the edge, and she finally fainted completely.

"Sorry, Hana,“ Zarya said, standing over her unconscious opponent. "I wanted to test out new technique. Apparently it works very well.”

D.VA woke up, eventually. Zarya sprayed a substantial amount of air freshener over her beforehand, to help dull the stink and prevent her from passing out again. It was only partially successful, and the smell of Zarya’s farts would linger on D.VA’s suit for a while.

D.VA was concious, but she wasn’t quite lucid. She thanked Zarya for the lesson, before stumbling out of the gym, never to return.

Zarya wasn’t bothered, as her gym had a strict no-refunds policy.


	7. The Giving-Headless Horseman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Overwatch Halloween 2018 everyone! For the first of this year’s stories, here’s a tale about Pumpkin Reaper using his detachable head to suck his own huge musky demon dick!

The pumpkin-headed demon known as the Reaper was one of the monstrous thralls enslaved by the Witch of the Wood. When she didn’t need his service, the Reaper was provided a certain degree of freedom, to roam about the land and do as he wished. Sometimes he used this independence as a way to sew chaos and suffering, riding through villages and burning them to the ground, obliterating innocents with his shotgun. 

Sometimes, however, he chose to keep to himself so he could indulge his carnal desires. Even headless phantoms got horny from time to time. 

The Reaper settled down in a clearing in the woods, out of sight of both man and monster, free to pleasure himself in whatever way he desired without judgement. If someone had been there to judge him though, they would’ve swiftly found themselves on the receiving end of a bone-shattering blast of demonic buckshot. 

The wraith removed his clothing, leaving his unusually pigmented skin exposed to the night air. His skin was pale, but retained a hint of the tanned color that he presumably once had, suggesting that he might’ve been human at one point before he was turned into this. 

While the Reaper’s skin tone was ghostly, it was his cock that was the most conspicuously inhuman. First, the thing was absolutely enormous. Not above average, not even large, but monstrous, greater than a foot in length, even while flaccid. The head was particularly fleshy, and sported four barbs that looked like miniature devil horns. His balls were saggy and swollen, like ripe grapefruit, which they were also approximately equal to in size. 

The whole fat, sweaty slab of cockmeat stood out from the rest of Reaper’s body, and not just because of its size. Unlike his sickly pale-brown skin, his cock was black, light the night sky, or the color of most of his attire. 

Reaper wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, where the pasty skin of his body met the pitch-black flesh of his cock. Then, he brought his hand all the way up to his tip, stopping just below the barbs beneath the tip of his cock. He could feel his cock swelling and throbbing underneath his hand as it filled with something, something that certainly wasn’t blood, until it was fully erect.

The Reaper stroked up and down his turgid rod of yard-length demon cock. He had no need for lube, as the musky layer of grease that clung to his cock at all times was already sufficient. Husky moans emanated from the flaming pumpkin that was his head, and yet, the phantom couldn’t escape the feeling that he wasn’t enjoying himself as much as he could be. Conventional onanism was fine and good, but he was beginning to crave something different. 

The Witch of the Woods, being a generous mistress, would provide her servants with everything desired, be it power, or sexual release. If one of the monsters serving her happened to become overwhelmed with horniness, she would satisfy them in any way they wanted. It was through this that The Reaper learned that he absolutely loved getting his cock sucked. 

Unfortunately, the Witch was a busy woman, and she was currently preoccupied with something that The Reaper knew better than to interrupt. As he continued to stroke himself, his desire to have his cock sucked grew and grew, until he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to cum otherwise. There wasn’t a single soul in the surrounding area who could satisfy his oral fixation, though, so if he wanted to get off, he would have to take matters into his own hand, or rather, his own mouth. 

The Reaper’s cock was long enough that he could probably take a good few inches of it into his mouth just with a bit of stretching, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to plunge his throbbing, hellish meat as far down someone’s throat as it could go. Luckily, The Reaper had a trick that would allow him to accomplish just that. 

The Reaper’s pumpkin head was obviously detachable. With just a bit of force applied, he was able to pluck it from his shoulders, and hold it in his hands. Despite it no longer being attached to him, his head was still fully functional. He could still see through his eyes, manipulate his expression, and most importantly, he still had use of his mouth.

He brought his head down to his waist, hovering it in front of his cock for a few seconds, before he thrust his hips forward, plunging his dick right into his own open mouth. The sensation was unusual, although not unpleasant. The inside of the gourd that was his head definitely felt different from the soft, eager mouth of the Witch, but it wasn’t that different either. It was still slimy, wet, and tight, enough that each thrust brought him closer to cumming, meaning that he could definitely achieve orgasm by fucking his own head.

The stranger part of the experience was that, since it was his own mouth that his cock was being thrust into, it felt like he was simultaneously fucking someone’s throat and having his throat fucked. That wasn’t a bad thing, though. Since The Reaper knew his own cock better than anyone, hew knew just the right spots to run his tongue over to drive himself wild. He flicked it against the underside of his shaft, swirling it around the thorny head of his cock. In addition to being driven further towards his climax by every lick, and by plunging his cock as far as it could go into his own head, The Reaper could also feel his own fat, sweaty balls slapping against his chin, an experience reserved exclusively for the headless. 

He figured that, while he was sucking his own cock, he might as well give the thing a good cleaning too. The thing was caked in sweat and grime, as The Reaper hadn’t washed the thing for a century, at least. He could definitely taste it too, the salty flavor of his own sweat coating his tongue, the humid cock-musk wafting up to his nostrils. He ran his tongue not only against the sensitive parts of his cock, but all along his entire length, including the creases and folks of cock-flesh where the most elusive pockets of sweat lurked. He didn’t try to be too thorough, as he would probably cum before the thing could be cleaned completely, but he at least put a good dent in his cock-filth, and replaced some of the musky odor with the light aroma of pumpkin. 

His cock twitched and pulsated, as he thrust it with increasing roughness into the mass of pulp and seeds that made up the mouth-esque inside of his head. He tried to let out a moan as his orgasm grew nearer, but he stopped once he remembered that he had a mouth full of demon cock. His thrusts became rougher, but he had no trouble taking every inch of his three-footer, even with the spikes at its tip prodding against the back of his throat. It was a good thing nobody was watching. If anyone of his fellow monsters knew he was this good at sucking cock, they’d never stop begging him to use his oral sex skills on them. 

He wrapped one of his hands around the bottom of his head, and the other around the stem of the pumpkin, using it as leverage to allow him to thrust with even more force. The still night air was filled with the sound of wet cock thrusts, sloshing balls, and the guts of a pumpkin being mashed from side to side. 

The Reaper finally came, with a gurgled grunt muffled by the enormous cum load he sprayed into his own mouth. The Reaper’s seed was just as filthy and demonic as the cock it was spurting from. Huge, sticky globs of foul-smelling yellow semen filled his head to the brim. The Reaper gagged and sputtered, trying in vain to swallow his own cum, before realizing that he had nowhere for the swallowed cum to go! Instead, it filled his mouth, and then the rest of his head, before spilling out through his eyes and nostrils. 

The pumpkin was thoroughly soaked with cum. The head would be impossible to fully clean. It was completely salvageable, and if Reaper were to continue using it he would have to deal with the aftertaste of his own cum for the rest of his life.

Since the pumpkin could no longer serve as his head, there was no reason to keep it around. The only logical conclusion, then, was that Reaper should fuck it to pieces, to extract the last bits of sexual pleasure he could out of the otherwise useless thing. 

Firstly, The Reaper detached himself from his head. Now, it was just an ordinary pumpkin. He could no longer see through it, nor feel through it, which was good, because of what he did next.

Reaper thrust his cock towards his head again. This time, instead of shoving it into his mouth, he used his erection to impale the flesh of the gourd itself. His cock pierced through it, and his horns tore it apart like the talons of a bird of prey. Since he no longer had to take his own comfort into account, he could thrust wildly, and he did. He pumped his hips back and forth, squeezing the juicy, mashed up remains of the pumpkin against his cock like an onahole. His entire cock was smeared with the orange residue of the pumpkin, stringy fibers clinging to his cock, seeds falling to the ground as he thrust like a man possessed. 

The pumpkin was no longer a pumpkin, but a sloppy pile of mashed-up orange pulp, held together only by The Reaper’s grip which kept it pressed tightly around his cock. Just a few more thrusts, and he could rid himself of this demolished fuck-vegetable forever.

The Reaper’s enormous jet-black balls spurted out their second load. He let the spongy flesh of the pumpkin soak up his cum, before releasing his grip on it, and letting the slimy mess fall to the ground. 

Would The Reaper be left permanently headless for the rest of his eternal life? Of course not. This may have been the first time that he fucked his own head to death, but he’d been decapitated or had his head smashed many times before. 

The temporarily blinded demon stumbled over to a nearby pumpkin field. He fell to his knees, pawing at the dirt, until he felt his hands caress the side of a particularly plump pumpkin. He plucked it from the vine, and then stood back up. It took him a few tries, but he managed to place it on his shoulders. 

The otherwise unremarkable pumpkin became imbued with The Witch’s magic. A ghastly, fanged mouth, along with a pair of eyes were carved into its flesh, illuminated by a fiery glow from within. The headless wraith was reunited with his ability to speak, see, and apparently, to suck cock. The Reaper was whole again, and with his libido satisfied, he was ready to raze the countryside in the name of The Witch.

Hours later, a man walking through the woods was left to ponder why there was a pile of pumpkin guts and cum in the middle of the forest.


	8. Slasher 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I want to preface this by saying that this story contains a lot of stuff that I don’t normally write about. This story has hard vore, gore, and other disturbing themes. Seriously, this is really fucked up. I'm warning you.
> 
> If any of that sounds like something that would upset you, I suggest you skip that one. If not, I hope you enjoy.

The crackling fire spewed embers up towards the stark, starless night sky. The cadets sat in a vague circle around it, gazing, enraptured, at the eldest among them as he began to speak. Before he could get out a full word, he found himself interrupted by one of the other trainees.

"I’m not so sure about this,“ Will said, glancing around nervously. "The sarge will be pissed if he finds us out here.”

"You’re free to leave…if you’re scared,“ said Nick, the oldest recruit. Truthfully, he was only a year or two older than the other young men at the boot camp. But, he was the only one who could grow convincing facial hair, which aged him by nearly half a decade.

Will said nothing.

"Great, can I start my story now?”

A respectful silence fell over the group. Nick’s story went thusly:

"There was once a decorated and respected American soldier named Jack Morrison. On Halloween night, him and his unit were told to go behind enemy lines, to strike directly at their base. They did…but they were overwhelmed, and every single one of them was killed, except for Jack Morrison. Even though he survived, he was still stranded in enemy territory, with no weapons, no means of escape, and no food. Now, normally he might’ve tried to hide, to wait for backup to arrive…but this was Halloween. The clouds hung ominously over the full moon. There’s always a strange atmosphere on this devil’s night, a strange evil in the air that makes it easier for men to allow themselves to become monsters. He snuck through the tall grass, ambushing a group of enemies in a small house. He used every single one of his remaining bullets to kill them…and the ones that were left over he killed with his knife. When he was done, he had killed over a dozen enemy combatants all by himself. But there was still one problem…he hadn’t eaten in hours, and he was starving. The enemy had already eaten all the food in their base. With no other choice…he devoured the corpses of the other soldiers. The thing is, once you get a taste of human flesh, it changes you forever. He had an appetite that needed to be sated. So, one by one, he killed the enemy soldiers, stripping them of their flesh…until he realized that he didn’t need to kill them first to eat them. His body and his mind became more twisted with each bite he took…until he was no longer a man, but a monster. His face was now hidden behind a mask, his soul permanently tainted by his sins…the military declared him MIA, not wanting to admit to anyone what truly happened. Some say he still resents the US military for abandoning him, and that on Halloween, he stalks bases just like this one, murdering and devouring his fellow soldiers as revenge…“

"Did that really happen?” Will said credulously.

"Of course not,“ Alex, the second most experienced next to Nick chimed in. "If the government never told anybody, how does he know about it?”

"My Uncle has access to classified documents,“ Nick said. "He’s the one who told me about it.”

Alex rolled his eyes.

"Does it matter if it’s true or not?“ a young man named Jake chimed in. "It’s a good story either way. I have an even better one, though…”

Before Jake could start spinning his own horrifying tale, Nick spotted a moving circle of light between the trees.

"Shit, the sarge must know we’re out here,“ he whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear him, but not loud enough to alert the man with the flashlight. "Take the long way around through the woods so we can lose him, and then head back to base.”

The other boys nodded in unison, the group turning around and heading even deeper into the woods, as the beam of the flashlight swung back and forth. Had they not started moving at that very moment, they definitely would’ve been caught.

The boys had been through this forest before for training, but never at night. The path that they knew by heart was suddenly alien to them when submerged in blackness. Jake, Alex, and Nick could barely see themselves, much less each other. The most they could do was try to avoid tripping or walking headfirst into trees, as they aimed themselves vaguely in the direction they remembered their camp to be. Unfortunately, this direction was completely different for each of the three boys, and they were all separated from each other before they knew it. It wasn’t until they got deep enough into the woods to use their flashlights without alerting the sergeant that they realized that the others had gone missing.

"Shit, shit, shit!“ Nick said, trying to reorient himself in these unfamiliar surroundings. "Those rookies should’ve just stayed behind me. I knew where we were going…”

If Nick knew the proper path before, he didn’t now. The leafless, blackened trees seemed to extend in every direction, and there wasn’t a single landmark, nor path, nor visible exit that he could use as a guide. The only thing he could do was pick a direction, and keep heading that way until the he found the exit. He kept his flashlight aimed at his feet, as he ambled slowly in his chosen direction, to keep himself from tripping. A lesser man would’ve been sprinting in a panic, but not Nick. The army didn’t accept cowards.

The forest was entirely silent, save for his own footsteps, and the crunching of the leaves that they caused. Not a single animal stirred, not a single insect chirped. Then, all of a sudden, the silence was broken. The sound started off subtle at first, so Nick mistook it for the wind brushing through the trees. As it got louder, he began to wonder. It almost sounded like the hum of a chainsaw revving up…

Suddenly, Nick’s flashlight went out. He wasn’t left completely in darkness, though. The ground in front of him was illuminated by a hazy orange light that hovered several feet off the ground. Nick’s bravery crumbled, as he starred at the glow with a paralyzing terror in his heart. It seemed to be getting closer, and the closer it got, the clearer it became what it was.

The glow came from a pair of unearthly eyes, and the ventilator-shaped mouth-hole of a mask. The only thing covering the upper portion of his torso was a jacket, unzipped, exposing the inhumanly pale flesh underneath. In his hands, he held a strange weapon, which looked like a combination of a chainsaw and an assault rifle. He couldn’t possibly be…no, it wasn’t!

"How did you find out about me,“ he said, with a voice like a roaring flame. "Don’t lie to me. I know it wasn’t your uncle.”

"It..it was another trainee! His name was Mike! We were friends before he…before he…went missing.“

"Not missing,” he said, the rumble of his chainsaw growing louder. No, that wasn’t his chainsaw, it was his stomach! His empty gut was gurgling ominously, waiting to be filled. “He got lost in the woods, just like you did. He wasn’t very filling. Too scrawny. Lucky for me, you look much meater.”

Nick was frozen in place, as he found himself face-to-mask with the mythical murderer Jack Morrison. He could smell the blood on his breath, mixed in with a hellish mixture of ash and brimstone.

Nick’s screams echoed throughout the forest, enough that Alex heard him from nearly a mile away. He recognized the panic voice of his friend almost immediately. He knew Nick to be nearly without fear, so if he was screaming for his life, something was definitely wrong. He immediately sprinted int he direction of his voice; somehow, he managed not to trip over the scattered branches even once.

When Nick’s yelling finally subsided, Will was even more terrified. He hoped he wasn’t too late…

"Nick, I’m almost there!“

Will aimed the beam of his flashlight in front of him, revealing an utterly chilling site. He didn’t see his friend, at least, not in any form he could recognize. What he did see was Jack Morrison, body and ash-white skin stained with blood, his bloated, hairy gut jutting out from between his jacket. He was surrounded by chunks of flesh and bones, some still covered in meat, and some completely stripped bare. Cold terror rushed through Will’s body like a chilling wind as he realized that those were human bones.

"Stupid kid,” Jack snarled, throwing the bone he was chewing on to the floor, and picking up his rifle-chainsaw hybrid from the floor. “Don’t you know not to interrupt someone when they’re eating?”

Like Nick, Will was terrified, but unlike his friend, he wasn’t immobilized by it. He tried not to dwell on the utter horror of what he had just seen, on the fact that his friend had been torn apart and devoured. Instead, he turned and ran. He didn’t know where he was going, and he still didn’t have an exit, but anywhere was better than here!

Will’s feet pounded into the ground. Unlike before, he was no longer blessed with near-perfect agility. Every few steps, he stumbled over a branch, or a rock, or his own feet. He could hear the footsteps of the killer behind him, the sickening sloshing of his gut as it bobbed up and down, swollen with the half-digested meat that was once his friend.

For someone so stuffed, Morrison wasn’t lethargic in the slightest. He wasn’t running, just walking, and still his strides were large enough to keep pace with the wildly sprinting Will. Will could feel his blood pumping in his ears. If not for the surge of adrenaline that was fueling him, he would’ve fainted long ago.

Suddenly, the sound of the killer’s pursuing footsteps stopped. Or perhaps they had stopped minutes ago, and Will hadn’t noticed over his own panicked footfalls. Regardless, the silence of the forest was seemingly restored. He couldn’t hear Morrison’s chainsaw, or his breathing, or the churning of his stomach. Had he managed to outrun him? Was he in the clear?

Will only had a moment to catch his breath, before a cold hand wrapped itself around his throat, lifting him up off his feet. He looked down, to see the glowing orange eyes of the gluttonous cannibal it belonged to. Try as he might, Will couldn’t escape his inhumanly strong grasp. Jack brought Will close to his face, unleashing a guttural, sickening belch directly into his nose.

*GRrRoooOOOoOOOOOORrrRrppPPPP*

"Smell that? That’s all that’s left of your friend, and soon, you’ll be churned up into one of my burps too.“

Will coughed and sputtered as the unholy aroma entered his nostrils. It was was horrifying, but not in the way he was expecting. It didn’t repulse him because the smell reminded him of Nick, it repulsed him because he didn’t. There wasn’t anything about Morrison’s gut gas that indicated that it had once been a person-it just smelled like meat. That’s all he was to him, meat, and that’s all Will would be too.

Jack released his grip, letting Will plummet to the ground.

"Please…just…make it quick,” Will said, as the vast gut of the cannibal loomed over him.

"No.“

Alex was far enough away that he heard neither Will nor Nick’s screams. Unfortunately, that’s because he was the most lost out of the three of them, trapped in a part of the forest they didn’t dare visit even during training. Alex leaned against a tree, curling up into a ball. He could feel his eyes swell, but he did everything he could to hold back the tears. Soldiers didn’t cry.

Alex had resigned himself to the fact that he would die here. While he didn’t dare imagine it’d be at the hands of some ruthless cannibal, he figured that he’d pass out from starvation or be mauled by a bear before sunrise. The least he could do was face his death with some dignity.

"Why are you crying?” a devilish, mask-muffled voice said, as an orange glow was cast over Alex’s body. “You don’t even know what I’ve done to your friends yet.”

Alex rubbed his eyes, to reveal the slasher standing in front of him. He was even more stuffed than before, swollen like an overripe fruit, or more appropriately, a tick, as he was full to the brim with a slurry of flesh and blood. His gut looked big enough to hold two full-grown men inside of it, because, well, it was. In his one hand, he held his rifle. In the other, he held a dismembered arm, which he would occasionally take a bite out of like a turkey leg. Alex recognized it immediately, even though he didn’t want to.

"Y-you’re him, aren’t you. That soldier Nick told me about.“

Jack let out a cruel laugh, that tapered off into a belch that filled the immediate vicinity with a strong odor of gore. "Don’t pretend like you don’t remember my name,” he said.

"It’s Jack. Jack Morrison. I just didn’t think you were real. I-is this some kind of prank? Are they playing a joke on me because I’m the new guy?“

"Oh, no, this is very, very real,” he said, taking a step closer, and another, and another. “Does this look fake to you?”

Jack dropped the severed arm at Alex’s feet. He immediately sprung up from where he was sitting, and scrambled away from the limb in panic. “Heh, you know, I’ve never gone for thirds before in one night…but hey, Halloween’s my cheat day!” Jack gave his gut a firm slap, forcing another roaring belch to the surface. “Don’t bother running, you won’t make it very far.”

"I wasn’t planning to!“ Alex said, rushing up to the killer, swinging his fist into his stomach with all of his might. His hand sunk deep into the stretched, squishy flesh. It was a good blow…and he tried not to think about the fact that he could feel the outline of his friend’s bones underneath his knuckles.

The force was so great that it caused Jack to burp up a skull. The drool-covered dome landed in the grass several feet away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t powerful enough to cause any real damage. Jack retaliated with a punch of his own, which caused Alex to double over as the world faded into blackness around him. Jack took the unconscious boy, and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him away towards the center of the woods.

Alex woke up to a considerable weight on his chest, and what sounded like a wolf tearing into a raw steak. Once Alex remembered what had happened before he fainted, he quickly deduced what was going on. Jack was sitting on top of him, chomping down on the remains of his friends that had hadn’t yet eaten. Drool, blood, and meat juice rained down on Alex from above. Needless to say, he was sickened to his very core.

"Mmmmph, I *URP* figured that I probably couldn’t fit all three of you in my gut after all…” he said. “I figured I’d get more use out of a stringbean like you as a dining chair than as a meal.”

Alex tried to wriggle his way out from underneath him, but the combined weight of Morrison and the contents of his stomach was too great. Alex would have no choice but to watch, and worse, listen, as Jack stripped the meat from the other boy’s bones with the grace of a starving animal. Alex hated the sound of people chewing at the best of times, so needless to say it was much worse than what they were chewing on was the remains of his friends.

The chewing wasn’t the worst part, though. Jack’s belches got louder, and more foul-smelling, until they were ear splitting and reeked like rotten meat. Alex was forced to smell every single one, as the drifted down to him. He couldn’t plug his nose with his hands pinned to his sides, and he could only hold his breath for so long.

Even his burps weren’t the peak of the horrors Jack’s body could produce. His body unleashed another, even more putrid form of gas, out of his ass instead of his mouth. Being the youngest kid at boot camp, Alex was no stranger to dutch ovens, but Jack’s fart was the most fetid, wretched flatulence he had ever had the displeasure of experiencing. It didn’t just smell bad, it smelled evil, as though a portal to hell had been opened up in Morrison’s ass, and spewed forth its most malodorous horrors from the deepest circle of the abyss. The fact that that fart used to be his friends was almost an afterthought in the face of that unholy stench.

"Hey, don’t pass out on me,“ Jack said, giving Alex a firm slap on the cheek to keep him conscious. "I’m not done with you just yet.”

"You’re sick!“ Alex spat, all of his rage bubbling up to the surface at once. If he couldn’t kill this monster, if he couldn’t even escape from underneath him, the least he could do was let him know how much he hated him. "H-how could you e-eat people like that? They were my friends?”

"You only say that because you haven’t gotten a taste of human meat. In fact…I’m getting pretty old, and I could use some young blood to carry on my legacy. Open wide!“

Morrison tore the remaining meat from Will’s arm, and before Alex could stop himself, he’d already chewed and swallowed. He could feel his stomach swelling with the large portion of meat that’d been forced inside of it. His own reaction surprised him. He didn’t gag, he didn’t scream, he didn’t cry…he licked his lips, wanting to savor every last drop of his friend’s savory meat. He forced himself to belch, which brought the taste back up to the surface. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He needed more. Already, a fiery orange glow began to appear in his eyes.

"Good,” Jack said, rising back to his feet, his gut heaving up and down. “Now, come with me. There are still a couple of your friends lost in these woods, and I want to show you the ropes…”

—-

"So, what do you think?“ Mercy said, a playful grin on her face as she looked at her fellow Overwatch agents that encircled the campfire.

"Man, you Germans tell the most messed up stories,” Hana said.

"I’m actually from Switzerland,“ Mercy corrected.

"That was pretty good,” McCree said, lowering the tip of his cigar into the fire to light it. “But I think it might’ve been a little too much for Winston.”

The gorilla adjusted his glasses, hoping to conceal the fact that he’d been crying nearly the whole time.

"I just don’t get why I had to be the killer,“ Jack Morrison said, sipping from his mug.

"Well, I just wanted the story to feel more realistic, so I-”

"And, I hope this isn’t rude to say, but well, it seems like you were kind of turned on the whole time.“

"Excuse me?” Mercy said, glaring at Jack with feigned offense. “What do you mean?”

"I mean, and again, I don’t want to insult you, but it seems like that story was just meant to satisfy some weird fetish of yours. Plus, you were making that one face you make when you’re aroused…“

"I have no such face!” Mercy said.

"She does,“ Pharah said, chiming in.

"Well, I’m sad that some of you didn’t appreciate my story. Anyways, who wants to go next?”

"I will,“ a French accented voice said, as a purple-skinned woman emerged from the darkness into the light of the fire. "I promise, you’ll love this one…”


	9. Ghost in the Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This year’s batch of Halloween stories are finally done, and wow are we going out with a bang this time.
> 
> Widowmaker discovers an enchanted suit of armor, possessed by the spirit of an ancient warrior woman. She puts it on, tormenting the ghost from the inside with her stink, before the armor surrenders to her, offering to merge the two of them together permanently.
> 
> As for kinks, there’s a lot of them, so I’ll just go ahead and list them all here:
> 
> Slob, bad breath, farting, burping, stuffing, smelly feet, body hair, musk, scat, hyper scat, soiling, clothing TF (kinda), grossdom, merging, cock growth, transformation, mind break, corruption.
> 
> Uhhh, I think that’s it, forgive me if I miss a few.
> 
> So yeah, I think this one might’ve gotten a little out of hand. Oh well, I hope you all like it!

Legends told of a woman named Pharah Amari, a legendary warrior hailing from Egypt. They say she wore an enchanted suit of armor that allowed her to soar above the battlefield, raining death on her enemies from above. She could defeat entire armies by herself, and soldiers would always look skyward, for fear that the fabled Pharah would swoop down from the skies and demolish them. Her lust for battle was unquenchable, and many lands were conquered in her name.

One day, however, she was finally bested in battle. However, according to myth, her love of war was so great that it lingered beyond her death. The armor she wore was infused by her bloodlust, and now wandered the Earth without a wearer, continuing the endless battle that her wearer couldn't finish.

Of course, that was only a legend, and one that the Countess Amélie Lacroix, known by her codename of Widowmaker was highly skeptical of. Whether or not the armor of Pharah Amari was possessed by some kind of ghost, it was incredibly valuable, and she intended to take it for herself. The legends stated that Pharah had fallen in a battlefield in France, and her armor was taken to a nearby castle, and locked in its basement, to prevent the vengeful spirit from continuing Pharah's slaughter.

Widowmaker looked right at home next to the eerie French castle she stood at the doorway of. She looked almost vampiric, with her unusually pale skin, crimson lips, and yellow eyes. Of course, she wasn't actually any sort of ghoul, her appearance was the result of unusual genetics, not anything absurd like magic. She wore her huntress's attire, a high-collared black jacket with a red vest beneath, with a tie and dress shirt under the vest. She had her goggles over her forehead, which would allow her to see in the darkness that no doubt filled the long abandoned castle. 

She walked the path of cobblestone to the castle's door. It was a massive, wooden thing that looked like it was made to accommodate giants. It was reinforced with steel, held together by rivets punched into its surface. It looked virtually impenetrable, but for Amelie, that was a problem that was easily overcome. She aimed her gaze upwards, towards one of the castle's many windows. She raised her arm, a grappling hook firing from her wrist, its claws digging into the stone. She hoped that the material would be able to hold her weight, despite its age and the state of neglect it was in. Her hook retracted, launching her up towards the window. In one smooth motion, she detached her hook from the stone, and jumped through the window, elegantly landing feet-first inside the castle.

Unfortunately, she was rather high up, and all the legends said that the armor was stored in the castle's basement. She looked around for a staircase, but she had a feeling that the basement was probably kept hidden by some sort of special mechanism. It wouldn't be as simple as climbing her way down to the bottom floor...

Amelie was partially right, in that it was actually a lot easier. She was right to be suspicious about the ancient castle's integrity, as the stone beneath her feet began to wobble until it gave way. She fired her grappling hook into the air, hoping to pull herself back up, but it retracted back into her wrist cannon without latching on to anything solid. She was sent plummeting down to the floor beneath her, which also gave way from the impact of her fall. The same was true of the next floor, and the next one, and the next one, until Amelie finally landed on something solid: the cold, stone floor of the castle's basement. 

She had sustained some scratches and bruises from her descent, but she lacked any serious injuries. The castle's floors had broken her fall on the way down, meaning that she had endured several eight-foot falls instead of one forty-foot one. The greatest amount of damage she sustained was to her pride. An experience treasure huntress like herself had no business making such amateur mistakes.

She dusted off her jacket, and rose back to her feet, activating her goggles so she could get a sense for the geography of the pitch-black room. It looked less shabby than the rest of the castle, but that might've been from its superior construction. The walls and floor were made of a denser stone. Perhaps it was to keep thieves like her from breaking in... or keeping whatever was inside from breaking out. 

The room was large and open, with little in the way of furniture, other than what looked like a coffin in the center of the room. There were no obvious means of entrance or exit, besides the hole that Widowmaker had left in the ceiling. It clearly wasn't meant to be as lacking in light as it currently was; the walls were lined with unlit sconces. 

She moved towards the coffin in the center of the room, the only thing that looked as though it could contain the treasure she sought. The clicking of her heels echoed through the chamber, and the air seemed to get thicker with every step she took. Her hands wrapped around the lid of the coffin, heaving the top aside so she could see what lurked within. 

She was forced to remove her goggles, as the dark room was suddenly filled with blinding light. The sconces ignited, casting their candlelight over the chamber. Whatever lurked underneath the coffin was beginning to emit an unearthly greenish glow.

Wooden splinters were sent flying across the room as something exploded through the lid of the coffin. Amelie still couldn't quite tell what that "thing" was, as its light was still obscuring its form, but she had her suspicions as it began to rise into the air, gliding around with the ease of a bird. 

As the glow subsided, Amelie could finally see this hovering thing for what it was: a suit of armor, not occupied by any wearer. The individual plates and parts of the armor were held together not by a human's body, but by a ghostly aura of energy. It, or rather she, held a cannon in her hands, which seemed to be pointed directly at where Widowmaker stood.

A rocket exploded from the armor's cannon, leaving a fiery trail behind it as it flew towards the would-be treasure hunter. Fortunately, Widowmaker had prepared herself for such an attack. She lunged to the side, out of the explosive's path. By time it erupted against the castle floor, Amelie was already well outside of its radius. 

"Leave this place," the armor said, her Egyptian-accented voice echoing through the chamber with an unnatural reverb. 

"Why would I leave now, when I'm so close to my prize?"

Widowmaker had spent her entire life perfecting her skills of marksmanship. She was able to draw her sniper rifle, ready it, and fire it in seconds. For her, hitting a moving, aerial target like Pharah's armor was about as easy as shooting someone in their sleep. 

"One shot, one-" her celebratory catchphrase was cut short by the sound of her bullet pinging uselessly off of the armor's helmet. Her shot had left a bullet-sized hole in the metal plating, but it hadn't done anything to slow the armor down. In fact, she seemed more enraged than ever, as she flew to the far side of the room, and fired off a volley of six rockets, hoping to overwhelm Widowmaker so she couldn't simply dodge her attack like last time. 

The armor had underestimated her opponent, however. Although Widowmaker couldn't fly like her, Pharah's armor wasn't the only combatant with access to the sky. Widowmaker fired her hook directly upwards, pulling her towards the ceiling and out of the path of the sextuplet of rockets. With all of her ammo expended, the armor was forced to waste precious time reloading, as Widowmaker dropped back to the ground, and readied her next shot. 

This time, she aimed for the ghostly energy that connected the separate pieces of armor, rather than the armor itself. If that was also immune to her bullets, well, she'd need to reevaluate her plan entirely. The armor wasn't completely invincible though, that she knew for sure. Nothing was. 

As she expected, her bullet passed through the phantom energy as easily as the air that surrounded it. This meant that Widowmaker's sniper rifle was completely useless against this opponent, although, it did help her formulate a new idea.

If her bullet passed through the armor's enchanted body, it must've been incorporeal, not taking up any real, physical space. So if the armor's body was just so much immaterial fog, what was stopping Widowmaker from putting on the armor herself?

Widowmaker intended to test this theory, if she could survive the next volley of the armor's missiles. She weaved through the projectiles as she dashed towards the armor, trying to close the distance between it and her. When she was finally close enough, she fired her grappling hook again. Instead of aiming it at a wall or ceiling, she launched it directly at the breastplate of the armor itself.

Her targeting was perfect. The hook had struck the thinnest part of the chestplate. It penetrated through the metal, and the hooks dug into it, giving Widowmaker the leverage she needed. Her hook retracted, and she soared through the air towards the armor, coming closer and closer, until the two were face-to-helmet. 

"Hello," Widowmaker said with a smile. Now that the two were so close, the armor, still in position of her senses, became keenly aware of just how odorous Widowmaker was. Her body had a foul, potent musk to it, as though she hadn't bathed herself for weeks. As Widowmaker spoke, she got a whiff of her breath, which stunk of meat and cheap wine. 

Unfortunately for the armor, this was just a taste of what was to come. The armor could no longer keep herself afloat with Widowmaker hanging onto her, and she was forced slowly down to the ground. There was a clattering as Pharah's armor made contact with the floor, like the sound of a clumsy waiter dropping a handful of silverware. Widowmaker wrestled the cannon out of the armor's hands, throwing it across the room, far out of her reach. 

Now, the armor was left mostly helpless, trapped under the other woman's weight, unable to do anything as Amelie removed her clothes one by one and tossed them to the side. Widowmaker's musk was much more intense now that her pale, unwashed flesh was exposed to the open air. Amelie had a lithe figure, modestly large breasts with ruby red nipples, and a generously plump rear and wide hips. Clearly, the countess didn't consider shaving a priority, as her pussy was obscured by a dense patch of oily, jet-black pubes, scraggly and coarse like steel wool. She had similarly thick, sweat-soaked bushes of hair beneath each of her arms as well. The armor was given a potent whiff of both of their distinctly foul odors once they were freed from the confines of Amelie's clothes. Although they were farther away from the armor, Amelie's foot stench was also a component of the toxic cocktail of stink she was being forced to inhale. Amelie's feet were a bit larger than the average woman's, and darkened by dirt, and the sweat that accumulated around them from being trapped inside tight heels most of the time. They had a sweaty, salty odor to them, mixed in with a bit of earthiness from that dirt. Like the other clouds of stink that drifted down into the armor's phantom nose, the waves of stench that her feet emitted were uncomfortably warm and sultry.

Then, Widowmaker pushed her nude self inside of the armor, as though she was putting on an ordinary pair of clothes. The swirling green cloud that made up Pharah's ghostly body still surrounded her, but now, Widowmaker's body was in charge of the armor, and Pharah was along for the ride. This meant that she would have to deal with with Widowmaker's potent musk for as long as she was wearing her. The fact that Widowmaker was inside of her made it inescapable; every breath filled her phantom nostrils with that sweaty scent. Whenever Widowmaker exhaled into her helmet, she exposed the armor to whiff after whiff of her noxious breath. Her exposure to Widowmaker's foulness wasn't limited to scent, though. She could taste Widowmaker's bad breath like it had come from her own mouth, and yet, she could also feel its humid gust against her face like Widowmaker's mouth was inches away from her face, breathing on her. She could feel Widowmaker's pit hair and greasy pubes as though they were beneath her own arms and between her own legs, but she could also feel them brushing against her own, hairless skin. She could feel her sweaty toes wriggling inside of her boots like they were her own, and she wasn't spared from their smell either. She was under assault from a contradictory onslaught of unpleasantness. She felt like she had been transformed into a repulsive slob, but also like a repulsive slob was on top of her, exposing her to her every vile odor, and she wasn't fond of either feeling.

Widowmaker took a step forward, and then a step back. She flexed her fingers, fanning them out, and then balling them into a fist. She grinned. Although this suit was designed for a woman with completely different proportions to her, it somehow fit her like a glove. The wings on the back of the suit flapped, as Widowmaker wondered if she could use the suit's most unique feature...

Widowmaker hurled herself straight up in the air, hovering over the candlelit stone beneath her. She wasn't sure how she was doing it, but floating and flying had become as easy and instinctual to her as walking.

"Delightful," she said, as she fluttered delicately back down to earth. "I have no intention of selling you anymore. I want to keep you all to myself."

Widowmaker could hear the spirit Pharah's ghostly screams, as the armor struggled against the woman that filled her. "No, you can't! Nobody but Pharah Amari is worthy of wearing me!"

"Hmph," Widowmaker scowled. "It seems you're still quite defiant, and that is something I simply cannot tolerate. My gloves don't give me backtalk, nor do my heels, nor my jacket. If you are to be my clothes, you have to learn to be obedient. Luckily, I have ways of making you docile."

Her body odor and halitosis were pervasive sources of unpleasantness for the armor, but they were nothing compared to what Amelie unleashed next. A bubbly fart exploded from between her unwashed cheeks. 

*BrrrOooOOorrrRrrrpppPPp*

The armor kept her gas contained, turning the whole thing into a hotbox of Amelie's ass-stench. While Widowmaker had grown accustom to her own scents, the armor wasn't nearly as acclimated. She let out a ghostly gag; not only could she smell it, but she could feel the humid ass-air floating over and inside her body like a dense fog. The smell was absolutely unholy, a dizzying, mind-meltingly potent stench.

The armor was helpless; Amelie's occupation of it rendered it immobile. Tragically, the enchanted armor still had its sense of smell, but it didn't have the ability to close its nostrils, as it didn't have any. There was no escape, and even when the fart finally dissipated, she would still be left to deal with Widowmaker's breath and BO.

Fortunately, Widowmaker didn't have any farts left to unleash, but that didn't mean her body was out of gas to supply. Amelie expelled a toxic belch from between her crimson lips. 

*OOooUuuURrrRrrrPpppp*

The smell was similar to that of her breath, but more concentrated, and several dozen times worse. The fact that it was pushed more forcefully up the armor's nonexistent nose didn't make things much better. It wasn't just a fouler version of Widowmaker's halitosis, though. There was a unique component to the stench, something truly rotten, something dredged up from the deepest, most vile part of Amelie's gut.

Amelie surprised herself. While she assumed she was out of flatulence, another fart slipped its way out from her behind.

*FrRrrTooooooRrrrTttt*

It was still plenty loud for how suddenly it appeared, and it smelled every bit as bad as the last one. While it wasn't worse than the first, being exposed to Amelie's ass fumes for the second time was enough to break the armor's resolve. 

"P-please, stop!" she said. "I surrender myself to you. Wear me, and use me in combat, please, just spare me your wretched scent."

"Well, I can't promise that," she said with a smile. "I'm not going to start bathing or acting more ladylike for your sake. However, I promise not to go out of my way to torment you anymore, as long as you remain loyal. Now, I wish to return home, I haven't eaten since this morning."

With the help of her new armor, Widowmaker flew back to her Chateau, leaving the armor to contemplate about Amelie's table manners with silent horror.

The armor's wings were swifter than the wind, and Widowmaker was carried back to her home in under and hour. She flew into the dining chamber through her open window, where she was greeted by a banquet spread atop a table, all for her.

"Please...uh, mistress," the armor said, not sure how to address the woman who now apparently had dominion over her. "I humbly ask that you remove me before you eat. There is no benefit I can provide you right now, no reason to leave me on."

"You are correct," Widowmaker said, sitting herself down at the table. She lifted up a turkey leg, and brought it up to her lips, tearing a chunk of flesh from the bone with startling ferocity. Meat juice dripped down her chin, and bits of food were sent raining down onto the breastplate as she chewed with all the restraint and dignity of an uncivilized beast.

"And yet, I chose to keep wearing you. Unfortunately, as you are but an article of clothing, you have no say in the matter. Unless, of course, you intend to defy me...meaning that I'll have to try and break your will again."

"I apologize, mistress. Do as you wish."

The armor was forced to sit still and watch as Widowmaker wolfed down her food, chewing like a slob, staining the surface of the once pristine suit of armor. The amount of food at the table was appropriate for a dinner party, not a lone woman, and yet, Amelie seemingly intended to eat it all by herself. She demolished an entire turkey, stripping the flesh from the bone like a swarm of piranhas. When she had finished, her stomach had swollen noticeably, and she let out a belch that smelled strongly of the greasy poultry she'd just devoured. 

*BBbBbUuuuRrrraaAaaaPppppp*

"Mmm, delicious," she said, licking the grease off of her fingers, while allowing the grease on her armor to remain. Some of it trickled down the smooth surface of the breastplate, staining the other parts of the armor as well. 

Apparently, one mere turkey wasn't enough to sate Amelie's ravenous appetite. She washed her meal down with a glass of red wine, before moving on to her next treat: a juicy slab of pork. Pharah had noticed that there were no utensils at the table, because Amelie neither needed or wanted them. She was perfectly content to pick up the porkchop with her own hands. She bit it in half, her throat bulging as she forcefully swallowed the first half, with the second soon following. Once again, the finishing off of the food item was punctuated by a rancid burp that reeked of what she had just eaten. While a majority of the pork slid down Widowmaker's throat, her beastly chewing meant that chunks of it would land on her armor instead.

This process continued, as Widowmaker devoured everything at the table one by one, pausing only to unleash her eructions into the armor's helmet. Her flat stomach swelled throughout her meal. Her once flat tummy was now a bulging, cream-colored lump jutting out from her midsection. Since her burgeoning belly forced her armor to stretch in order to accommodate it, the armor felt just as stuffed as Amelie herself.

After an hour of being stretched, spat on, and stained, Widowmaker's meal was finally over. Amelie looked as though she was heavily pregnant, and nary a second passed where a fetid burp wasn't escaping her mouth. The armor was exhausted, and utterly disgusted to her core, but she dared not raise an objection, for fear that Widowmaker would unleash something worse upon her. She noticed that her mistress hadn't let out a single fart during her entire meal, and she wondered if that was by choice. 

Widowmaker rose from her chair, patted her stomach, and let out a final belch, a combination of all of the previous odors Pharah had been smelling throughout. Mercifully, it seemed like the worst was over. After that belch, Widowmaker's gas subsided entirely. Although her musk and mouth were still unpleasant, the armor had become somewhat accustom to them. Perhaps things would go back to normal, and she would find herself in an arrangement no worse than the one she had with her previous owner.

The armor's hope was tragically misplaced. Amelie's stomach growled...no, it wasn't her stomach. That deep, guttural rumbling originated from somewhere lower...

"You've made for quite a nice suit of armor," she said. "Now, let's see if you're any good at being a diaper..."

By time she realized what was happening, it was already too late. Widowmaker's asshole was pushing out a dense, pungent log of fresh shit right into the seat of her armor. She continued to push, her shit forming into a tall, coiled pile before her asshole pinched it off. She wasn't nearly done, though. After all she had eaten, that was just the beginning! The armor could feel the turd's unsettling warmth and suffocating weight on top of her, and worse still, she also felt as though she had shit herself. While Amelie seemed to have absolutely no shame about anything, the armor had enough dignity to be embarrassed by the sensation of soiling her pants, even if it wasn't her who was doing the shitting. 

Another spiral-shaped shitpile was plopped down on top of Amelie's previous load, smothering the armor underneath its mass. The weight of Widowmaker's shit was one thing, and the warm, dirty feeling of them was another, but the smell was something else entirely. 

Out of all of the forms of Amelie's foulness that she had been forced to smell before, her shit was considerably worse than all of them combined. The odor was ungodly, so foul, so meaty, and because it emanated from a solid mass that was stuck inside of her, the smell couldn't be blown away by the breeze after a period of time like her belches or farts.

The armor was forced to keep smelling it, over and over again. It invaded her senses, clouded her thoughts. She had no choice. She just had to keep smelling it, and smelling it, that fucking thick, noxious scent. 

"Fuck, her shit is so heavy," Pharah thought to herself. It just kept coming, pouring out of her asshole with no sign of stopping. 

The pile on top of her just kept getting larger and larger, and the smell seemed to get worse with every turd she pushed out! 

"Fuck, it smells so fucking bad."

Sometimes, between turds, a fart would burst from her anus between loads, the sound echoing through the accumulating shitpile.

"God, that stinks!."

Even without her shit and farts, her unwashed asshole would've reeked all on its own. She could still smell its musk, even under the overwhelming cloud of shit-stink.   
She couldn't help it, the smell wouldn't go away. She just had to keep smelling, and smelling, and smelling...She was no longer a suit of battle armor for an indomitable warrior woman. She was the diaper of a repulsive slob of a woman, to be filled to bursting with her loads forever. 

"Fuck. It smells...it smells...it smells so fucking good!"

God, it smelled good! She inhaled deeply, she just couldn't get enough of her shit-stench. It surrounded her from all sides, it hung in the air around her, it filled her nose with every breath, and still, she wasn't satisfied! Why had she been so resistant before? Why couldn't she realize the splendor of her odorous mistress until now? Why did the steaming pile of Amelie's shit smell so sexy?

Perhaps she had been a filth-craving pervert this whole time, and the overwhelming foulness of Amelie's shit had forced her out of her denial. Perhaps Widowmaker's shit was so repulsive that she had forced herself to enjoy it as a defense mechanism, in resignation to her future of huffing this woman's shit for the rest of her life. Or, perhaps, just like Pharah Amari's love of battle was so strong that her armor survived after death, Amelie's filth was so pure that it had the power to magically corrupt anyone it came in contact with. It didn't matter. She was happy. 

"Mistress...I...I..."

"Mph, speak up," Amelie said, as the last of her bowels contents made their way into the seat of her armor. Her suit could no longer contain her shit; huge turds fell onto the floor through her leg holes. 

"Mistress, I love your stink. I love how much of a disgusting, rotten pig you are. Fuck...I just want to sniff your gas forever. I don't want you to use the toilet ever again, I just want you to take a huge, steaming dump inside of me whenever you need to go. Fuck...I love you, I...I can't help myself!"

Widowmaker smiled. This change of heart was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Sure, she enjoyed tormenting the armor to keep her in line, but a willing servant enthralled to her filth would be even easier to manipulate. 

"I want to make an offer," she said breathlessly. "I want you and me to be together forever. So I give you an opportunity...we will no longer be armor and wearer, but one, whole being. My metal will merge with your flesh...my spirit will merge with yours...you'll become more powerful than you can imagine, and I'll be able to sniff your stink for eternity."

"I accept."

Once Widowmaker gave her word, the transformation began. The parts of Widowmaker's body covered by armor were merged with the steel plating. What was created as a result of this combination was neither flesh nor steel. It was as shiny and resistant as metal, yet soft and warm like skin. The new substance also carried Widowmaker's musk as well as her old flesh did as well.

Her breastplate became a pair of literal breasts, two lumps of glittering chrome that were noticeably larger than Amelie's previous endowments. Her hips and ass, which were already significant, gained some additional mass as well.

The huge pile of shit in Widowmaker's pants didn't go away during the merging. Since it was present during the ritual, it would now be a permanent part of her body. There would always be a lumpy, foul smelling, bulging mass beneath Amelie's new, steely ass. She would feel the sensation of her excrement pressed up against her bottom for as long as she lived, and she would reek of her own shit forever. Amelie and Pharah's armor were both delighted by this. Since her stomach was bloated with food when she transformed, she would be stuck with a perpetual pot-belly as well.

Widowmaker's smelly, unwashed pussy was gone, and in its place was a forearm-thick, fourteen-inch long steel cock with a pair of swollen, vinegar-scented balls underneath it. Even though her transformation was still underway, Amelie couldn't keep her hands off of that thick, juicy meat...errr, metal. Her pseudo-steel hands wrapped around the base of her shaft. The scent and feel of her eternally soiled pants left her with a throbbing, uncontrollable erection, one that she was eager to sate. She cupped her balls with her other hand, enjoying her heft and weight. As she continued to jerk herself off, that hand moved from her testicles to the underside of her ass, as she squished her palm against that now perpetual shitlump, letting its warmth and muddy texture spread across her ass.

Meanwhile, the last few transformations were taking place. All of the metal bits had fused with Widowmaker's skin, and he exposed, non-metal bits of flesh were beginning to lose their pallor. Amelie wasn't just fusing with the armor itself, she was fusing with the spirit of Pharah Amari contained within it. As she merged with the Egyptian warrior woman's soul, her body would come to resemble her more closely. 

Her skin darkened, her swollen tummy going from ghostly white to tan, somewhere between her and Pharah's skin tones. Lastly, an Eye of Horus symbol appeared beneath her right eye, and metal wings sprouted from her shoulder blades, which could be retracted if she needed to fit through any tight hallways. Her transformation was complete. She was now a winged, half-French and half-Egyptian medieval cyborg with a fourteen inch cock, a big distended belly and a huge sagging pile of shit in her pants. In other words, she was perfect. Now all she needed to do was cum. 

The metal-esque substance that her hands and cock were made of was naturally smooth and slippery, so her hands were able to glide from shaft to tip effortlessly without the use of lube. She continued smushing her mess against herself, occasionally fondling her balls, or rubbing her belly, which still felt like it was packed with food. Her other hand remained fixed around her cock. She tightened her grip, and picked up speed, every stroke, and every squish of her mess against her sensitive anus bringing her closer to orgasm...

Finally, she came. Her climax was an appropriately explosive affair. A huge torrent of her cum, a sticky, foul-smelling yellow substance that resembled snot as much as it did ejaculate shot out of the head of her cock like a fire hose. Her cum splattered against the dining table, coating the empty plates and meatless bones with her stinking jizz. Waves of unimaginable pleasure surged through her body. She was utterly delighted with her own perversion. She had inherited Pharah's adoration of her filth, so she was now in love with her own foulness. 

Her orgasm left her exhausted. She fell backwards, the impact cushioned by her mess. The feeling of all that shit being pushed so hard against her ass compelled her cock to cum again, causing her to push out a smaller but still substantial load of jizz. 

That was it, she couldn't take it anymore. She pushed herself back to her feet, using the last of her energy to walk towards her bedroom. Her soiled bulge and sagging balls could be seen bobbing between her legs as she moved. She opened her door, threw herself onto her freshly made bed, and closed her eyes. What she had found in that castle had been much, much better than treasure.


	10. Dragon Symmetra: Her Weight In Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since the Overwatch anniversary event brings back skins from the Halloween event, I figured that I could bring back my Overwatch Halloween stories during it too. I'm going to write about some of the skins I didn't get a chance to this year, starting with this one about Dragon Symmetra.
> 
> Symmetra decides to protect her dragon's horde by hiding it in her belly, but after devouring her mountain of gold she finds that her eyes may have been bigger than her stomach.
> 
> Contains object vore, belly expansion, non-fatal bursting, and some implied F/F vore and digestion

Though her humanoid appearance set her apart from her fellow dragons, Symmetra was just as dedicated to her horde as any of her kin. She lived in a vast, spacious cave, where her glimmering pile of gold could be seen stretching from floor to ceiling. Her riches were surrounded on all sides by a series of fire-spewing turrets, that would roast anyone foolish enough to try and steal from her.

Despite her thorough defenses, the dragoness still grew increasingly paranoid with each passing day. What if an intruder managed to penetrate her security while she was away? What if she returned to find her great pile reduced to a few scattered doubloons strewn about the cave floor? There was only one way to ensure that her horde would be protected no matter what, and to make it so she wouldn't be separated from it for even a single second.

Symmetra approached her pile, dropping to her knees in front of it. She ran the coins and nuggets of cold through her fingers like droplets of water. Then, she scooped up the treasure in her hand, and shoveled it straight into her maw. She didn't bother chewing, only swallowing, sending the coins into her hot, bubbling stomach. They tasted as good as they looked, and the heavy, indigestible objects settled in Symmetra's stomach with relative ease.

Satisfied with the initial results, Symmetra took another handful into her mouth, and then another. Already her belly was beginning to swell. Most of the mass was concentrated towards the lower part of her midsection, as the weight of the coins made them sink to the lowest part of her stomach. The bulge began to even out as she crammed more riches into her gut, and the valuable contents of her stomach began to pile up on top of one another.

Symmetra leaned back, to assess the progress she had made, and the impact it was having on her figure. She looked like she was heavily pregnant, with a scaled, spherical potbelly jutting out from her. Every time she inhaled, she was reminded of the tautness of her gut. As for the pile, she had barely made a dent. Despite this, she still had full confidence in her ability to finish what she had started. She was a dragon after all, creatures known for their legendary appetites.

She began gulping away at the riches with renewed vigor, now using both hands in order to gorge herself.

The results of her hasty stuffing became apparent almost immediately. Her belly swelled rapidly, nearly doubling in size after only a few seconds. As her belly grew, her pile shrank. The more her stomach expanded, the noisier it became, a mixture of gurgles and the clattering of coins echoing through the cave. They were soon accompanied by loud, grumbling belches, as the shifting gold caused gas to bubble up in her stomach.

Under the right circumstances, a dragon's belch could be just as terrible as their fiery breath, and Symmetra's eructations were powerful enough to rattle the walls of her cave.

Her belches were the only thing that slowed her eating. When gas wasn't erupting out of her mouth, gold was being shoveled into it. Symmetra's stomach became not just large but incredibly weighty, sagging as it swelled until it filled her lap. Once it grew past her knees, it began to expand across the ground in front of her like a puddle of gurgling flesh. Instead of a tight sphere, it was now a shapeless mound of uneven bulgy paunch.

Though she had taken a visible chunk out of her horde, this was still taking too long for Symmetra's liking. She abandoned the use of her hands entirely, and simply threw herself forwards into the pile, mouth-first. Her stomach was too heavy to move with the rest of her, so it simply swelled underneath her like a waterbed being filled.

She sucked up coins like a vacuum. Each rumbling belch she released made the gilded mountain threaten to collapse. Bits of gold were slurped up by her open mouth by the hundreds, pushed to the back of her throat by her long, powerful tongue and then forced into her stomach by her esophageal muscles.

Her belly had gone from smooth and spherical to lumpy and misshapen, and now it was back to being relatively round again. Beneath the glutting Symmetra was her stomach, an enormous ovular bulge which was now larger than the entire rest of her body tenfold.

The pile had become so unstable that she no longer needed to bother with sucking up the gold. Instead, she could simply let her jaw hang open, and let the collapsing coins slide down her throat on their own. From there, the pile dwindled rapidly as Symmetra's stomach grew just as quickly, until all that was left was a small hillock of valuables barely taller than Symmetra herself, belly excluded.

This remaining gold would be Symmetra's greatest challenge yet. The tremendous weight of her stomach had left her immobile, and the pile was just barely outside of her reach. Huffing, she leaned forwards, trying to use her own weight to propel herself. She ended up rolling onto her side, with her head conveniently positioned just in front of the last few coins.

She made use of her hands once again, which up to now she had been using to soothe her vast, taut stomach. Sluggishly, she shoved it all into her mouth, until every last nugget and gemstone now resided within Symmetra's overtaxed stomach walls.

Her belly was now as large as the pile she'd eaten to create it had been. She could feel the top of her belly scraping against the stalactites on the roof of her cave. Her belly was wide enough to block her field of vision entirely, so she wasn't sure how far outward it stretched, but she figured it must've been at least several yards. Though there was no longer a mountain of gold for her to admire, she now had her vast, swollen gut as a testament to her wealth. And she felt so incredibly, unbelievably full, fuller than she had ever been before in her lifetime of gluttony.

Her treasure would now be safe, forever preserved inside her gut, a place far too treacherous for even the most intrepid adventurer.

Symmetra's satisfaction was cut short by a noise that made her seize with fear. It sounded like fabric being torn, and was loud enough to be heard even over Symmetra's bubbling stomach and near-constant belching. The noise itself was ambiguous, but the sensation that accompanied it made its source very, very clear.

Symmetra watched as her stomach ruptured before her very eyes. It was like a stitch being torn. The tear started around her navel, and then rapidly spread up and down in both directions. Coins spilled from her stomach onto the cave floor with a sound like a hundred-thousand bells ringing at once.

By time it was done, Symmetra was left with an empty stomach and a pile of gold nearly identical to the one she had started with.

It should be noted that having dragons were more than capable of surviving having their stomachs split open. In fact, it was a rather regular occurrence for them. Symmetra had even experienced it once before, when a knight rended open her belly with his sword, in hopes of rescuing the princess she had devoured. If only she hadn't already been mostly digested.

So Symmetra was alive at least, with an amount of pain not that much greater than a common belly ache. The greatest and most painful wound was to her pride.

She would have to wait for her stretched-out stomach to heal itself. In the meantime, she would have plenty of time to come up with a better method of storage for her horde.


	11. Curse of the Belching Banshee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for belly bloating and hyper belching.
> 
> Banshee Moira assaults a town with her hyper banshee-belches after some binge drinking because I am racist.

Moira was a banshee, a ghoulish female spirit who went around harassing the people of a poor Irish village with her awful wailing. Eventually they got sick of her shrieks keeping them up night after night, so they enlisted the help of a priest to drive her away. Crucifix in hand, the priest forced the phantom from their village, and the people were allowed the first good night's sleep they'd had in ages.

Though she had been pushed back, Moira refused to admit defeat. In fact, she was more determined than ever to turn the townspeople's lives into a living hell. The priest had left, foolishly assuming that his job was done, so the village would be left vulnerable to Moira's next attack. This could be her last chance to strike before they wised up and sent an entire legion of priests after her, so she would need to get this right the first time. Though they were her main instrument of torment, her screaming would not be sufficient to give the villagers the punishment they deserved for banishing her. She would have to spew something even more awful than mere noise from her mouth for that, and she had just the thing in mind.

The first step in her plan for vengeance was to fuel the belches she intended to unleash upon the villagers. That would require some preparation. Luckily, she didn't just torment the villagers-she had stolen from them as well. She had stolen a single barrel full of beer from them, mostly out of spite. Now it seemed like she had finally found a use for it.

The barrel was uncorked and hoisted above her head, the caramel-colored liquid pouring straight into the wicked woman's open mouth. Gulp after gulp sent the foaming liquid down into her awaiting stomach. The same monstrously powerful throat muscles that allowed for her screams also made her able to chug consistently without needing to pause or choke.

Despite being a phantom, Moira was not immune to the effects of booze. Perhaps a bit more resistant than a human would have been, but she could still feel herself growing tipsy with each gulp. Moira didn't let this bother her. It's not like sobriety was integral to her plan. Having her inhibitions lowered might have even been a good thing.

Her pale stomach swelled from the rush of alcohol. After the beer barrel was about half-depleted, she was left with a gut about the size of a basketball. Since Moira didn't require food nor drink to survive, she had never been nearly this full before in her life. Her sloshing stomach was doing a pretty admirable job of containing the beer despite this. The last few drops dribbled out of the barrel, leaving it empty and Moira very, very full. Moira now sported something of a beer-barrel herself, in the form of the pale-grey mass jutting from her midsection. She instinctively reached out to caress it with her long, clawed fingers, to feel the curious sensation of the liquid sloshing around within her.

Moira had gone from tipsy to full-on drunk. Once again her monstrous biology reduced the beers effects, this time by preventing her from straight-up keeling over from alcohol poisoning. She was still utterly sauced though, her every step staggered, her every word slurred, her vision going hazy. She still had enough sense in her to remind herself to stifle every burp and hiccup that threatened to bubble to the surface. She would need to save all of that for later.

"Good job, Moira," she said to herself drunkenly. "Now all you gotta do is...get to that village and show those assholes that they can't push you around."

Having momentary forgotten her own rules, Moira delivered a proud, forceful pat to her burgeoning belly. A bubbly belch was forced up out of her throat. Though not terribly large compared to her potential, it was still an enormous, frightful thing. The walls of her cave rattled, and bits of rubble were shaken from the ceiling. Though the animals were wise enough not live near the banshee's lair, birds in the far-off trees were sent skyward by the shock of the sudden sound.

Moira's belch was so powerful that it took a visible form, that of a pale, cloudy haze like the kind that could be seen creeping over the Irish cliffsides. It lingered in the air even after the bubbling, thunderous sound tapered off. The banshee's lair was filled with an overpowering scent, like that of stale bread with the sharp smell of alcohol underneath.

Moira scolded herself for wasting her precious gas, though if the rumbling and grumbling that came from her stomach was any indication, she still had plenty to spare. She staggered out of her cave, and then took flight into the night air, heading towards the unsuspecting village with a gut full of gas that she couldn't wait to unleash.

 

\----

"You fools. Did you really think you'd seen *HOOOOURP* last of me?" Moira shouted sloppily from the village gates. Despite her best efforts she couldn't keep the occasional burp from slipping out, and even her smallest eruption was enough to wake the entire sleeping town.

"Aye, what is it ye want from us this time, ye foul beast? Do we have to get Father Donovan to kick ye out on yer arse again?" spat one of the villagers. 

"That *OoOoOOUuurrrp* fool won't get a chance!" Moira said. The villagers watched as the banshee floated into the night sky, opening her mouth for what they expected to be a soul-shattering wail. Instead, something much worse erupted from her ghostly jaws.

BWUH-WARH-HAAAAAAAAR-ROOOOOAAAAAUUUR-RUUUUUH-HRUUUUUUUHP!

Moira unleashed all of her pent-up gas in a single, terrifying huff. Once again her belch took a visible, gaseous form. A dang fog swept over the town with the force of a hurricane. The villagers were knocked clean off their feet and sent flying. Windows were shattered, and people's possessions were left scattered across their floors. This amount of destruction was still insufficient for Moira, so she pressed down upon her beer-gut with both hands, empowering her mega-belch with a fresh rush of gas from the depths of her stomach. 

The bellowing belch-stream became even more powerful. Now trees were uprooted with a terrible snapping sound. The more fragile houses were flung from their foundations, while the sturdier abodes were simply reduced to rubble. 

It wasn't just the force that made Moira's belch a terrible, awe-inspiring thing. The sound was just as awful as any of her screams, and the villagers ears rang in pain as they were thrown about in the caustic air. The smell had intensified from being trapped in Moira's gut for so long too, and now the entire town reeked of stale bread and stinking chemicals. 

Moira floated to the ground as her belch finally tapered off, hand rested against a stomach that had softened but was still noticeably bloated. She looked upon the bruised and beaten villagers, surrounded by the wreckage of their former homes. She found herself oddly proud of the damage she had caused, of her tremendous belch and bloated belly. A smug smile was on her face as the villagers pulled themselves back to their feet. They would be wise not to mess with her again.


End file.
